


Blood Traitor

by Zalia84



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:40:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 92
Words: 184,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27550912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zalia84/pseuds/Zalia84
Summary: Draco Malfoy has been living a lie to protect the girl he loves. He has inherited the Veela gene and on his next birthday he will become the first male Veela for three hundred years. Canon (except the epilogue).
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 74
Kudos: 354
Collections: Best of best, My amazing all time favourites., The Dramione Collection





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Everyone who loved it on FanFic and wants to re-read it in the future](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Everyone+who+loved+it+on+FanFic+and+wants+to+re-read+it+in+the+future).



**Prologue:**

In the darkness of the early morning Narcissa Malfoy stood thirty metres from the door of the Weasley home. Inside the house Arthur, Molly, Ron and Ginny Weasley were fast asleep, as most people were at three am. Harry Potter and Hermione Granger also slept inside the odd house.

Narcissa turned to the House Elf which stood next to her, holding a box nearly as large as she was.

“Do you wish to stay Linna?” Narcissa asked, “If you prefer to return to the Manor you have my permission.”

“I would like to stay Mistress,” Linna responded immediately. She had served Narcissa exclusively for nearly a decade and had been spared the horrible treatment of the Elves under the care of Lucius.

“Thank-you Linna; I appreciate your loyalty.”

A simple stretcher hovered in the air in front of Narcissa, supporting the unconscious weight of her only child, Draco. She kept her eyes averted from the horrible wounds on his back and moved forward with purpose.

It was time for the truth to be revealed.


	2. Unexpected Company

“Intruders!” An echoing voice boomed through The Burrow, “Intruders!”

Harry groped for his glasses and shoved them onto his face. Ron was already throwing off his quilt and reaching for his wand.

They didn’t need to exchange a word; they knew each other well enough to anticipate what was going to happen.

Harry led the way, snatching his wand from beside the bed without looking. They raced down the stairs as the voice continued to wake everyone up.

“Intruders!”

Hermione and Ginny appeared a few steps behind Ron; having paused long enough to pull on dressing gowns. By the time they reached the ground floor Molly and Arthur Weasley were in the kitchen with their wands drawn.

“A witch, a wizard and an elf,” Arthur announced. Molly silenced the irritating warning which had woken them all up.

“Stay here,” Arthur ordered the four youths. Harry opened his mouth to argue but a glare from Molly stopped him.

Voldemort was dead; surely they could handle the visitors without any issues?

“The Molly Weasley Stare,” Ginny whispered as her parents exited the house to see what the visitors wanted, “Be glad you survived it.”

The four of them hovered at the door, struggling to make out the unknown figures in the darkness.

“Arthur and Molly Weasley,” an aristocratic voice greeted, “I am here to seek your help; we have no-where else to go.”

“Narcissa Malfoy!” Hermione hissed.

“Death Eaters have attacked my son; I fear for his life. Lucius is pretending to be on their side for now.”

Arthur took charge, “Come in, come in. I’ll alert the Ministry right away. Are you injured?”

“No,” Narcissa replied, “Only Draco. This is my House Elf Linna.”

Hermione watched in shock as Narcissa not only acknowledged the Elf but encouraged her to enter the house ahead of her.

“Draco was disarmed trying to attack the Death Eaters in what was our home,” Narcissa explained, “I was also disarmed by the third one. They took him into the dungeon and -” her poise crumbled and a sob tore from her throat.

“Into the living room!” Molly ordered the four teenagers crowding the kitchen, “Move.”

Ron held Hermione’s hand tightly in his own when they sat down heavily.

“Your hair is as well-tamed as ever,” Hermione pointed out with a smile.

“I’ll get right on that,” Ron replied sarcastically.

Ginny sat next to Hermione and pulled Harry down beside her. Without her interference he would have remained standing in front of his friends in case there was an attack.

“I’m so sorry to burst in like this Molly,” Narcissa apologised, “None of my friends can be trusted.”

“We are all cousins,” Molly assured the distraught mother, “We know you and Draco were not loyal to Voldemort at the end; we will help where we can.”

“Who has the most talent with healing?” Narcissa asked the group, “I managed to stop the bleeding, but Draco’s back is a mess. I could hear him screaming, I couldn’t stop them -” she was sobbing again.

Hermione stood up and moved forward, “I have been studying advanced Healing techniques,” she offered.

Narcissa stared at the young witch and attempted to stop the tears, “Miss Granger?”

“You can call me Hermione.”

Narcissa began to cry in earnest and moved forward to wrap her arms around Hermione. Harry, Ron and Ginny stared in amazement. Even Molly was shocked.

“He speaks of you so often,” Narcissa hiccupped, “There is so much you don’t know; I’m so sorry! I have a Pensieve and some memories which you need to see.”

“I’m sure he has many colourful adjectives saved up for Hermione,” Ron muttered.

Draco was wearing trousers, but he was bare from the waist up. His hair had been cut short and was no longer gelled back against his head.

Harry found it was hard to recall the hatred he felt for his nemesis while he was unconscious.

Hermione moved behind him to see his back. A gasp of shock escaped her mouth and she dropped her wand.

“It will scar quite badly,” Narcissa moaned, “Those filthy monsters deserve to rot in hell for this.”

Hermione tried to still her shaking hands but the mess of flesh in front of her was horrifying. She knelt down beside the young man who had made her life miserable for seven years and used all of her knowledge to try to heal the wounds.

Letters as tall as her pinkie fingers had been cut deeply into his skin. She could see some of the muscle even though the blood obscured most of the damage.

“Linna, the Pensieve please,” Narcissa said quietly.

The House Elf presented her with the large box before moving toward Molly.

“Mrs Weasley, I will not be returning to Malfoy Manor. May I assist you here while we stay?”

Molly tore her eyes away from the awful mess Hermione was attempting to clean up.

“Oh, I’ve always wanted the assistance of a House Elf,” she admitted, “If Narcissa is fine with it.”

“Linna has my approval to make many of her own decisions,” Narcissa replied, “She is intelligent and thoughtful. I would be lost without her.”

Linna beamed at her mistress before turning proudly to Molly, “I would be honoured to serve in the noble house of Weasley.”

Ginny and Ron sat up straight, clearly unnerved by their family being described as ‘noble’. Harry appreciated how confident Linna was compared to his experiences with Dobby.

“I need more Healing potions,” Hermione said, her voice shaking, “The skin should cover the open wounds by morning. My god, they’re deep.”

Arthur approached, having alerted the Ministry to the presence of two additional people to his house. He paused when Draco’s back came into view and was unable to disguise his horror at the sight.

“We have spare rooms now that most of the boys have moved out,” Arthur said, his voice strained. “Will Draco react badly if he wakes in an unfamiliar room?”

“Probably,” Narcissa replied, “Though I expect he is going to be very upset anyway. I plan to show you all what happened tonight and Miss Granger, I have other memories which you need to see.”

Hermione returned to her seat between Ron and Ginny though her eyes were often drawn to her patient.

“Why do I need to see them?” she asked quietly.

“I wish I could explain, but they need to be seen to be believed. Draco does not know I have collected them, and he is going to be furious when he finds out I am revealing them to you.”

While Narcissa carefully set up the Pensieve and added one of her memories to it she continued to explain, “Everyone here has the right to know what happened at Malfoy Manor. After that, the decision remains with you Miss Granger. I will show you each memory in order and you can decide who else should see it.”

Hermione exchanged confused looks with everyone else in the room.

“I’ve never used a Pensieve before,” Hermione admitted.

“Just lean forward and touch the silvery substance with your nose,” Narcissa explained, “You will be mentally thrown into the memory, though your physical body will remain motionless.”

The tear stains on her face undermined how calm she sounded. Harry kept glancing at Draco, wondering if his foe would wake up anytime soon. The customary arrogant sneer was completely absent while he slept. He looked almost normal.

Hermione shifted toward the Pensieve hesitantly. She knelt beside the stone basin and watched odd, disconnected images swirl in the semi-solid substance.

Narcissa tapped the basin with her wand, “This is my memory of this evening.”

Hermione closed the gap between her nose and the substance and was thrown forward into a memory.

_“The trial will be held in a week,” Minister Shacklebolt said in his deep voice, “Lucius, you will be confined to the mansion until then. Draco and Narcissa; as Harry potter has revealed that you each attempted to help him you will be free to come and go but your movements will be monitored.”_

_“Yes Sir,” Draco said sadly to the Minister. Lucius and Narcissa echoed his statement a moment later._

_Hermione watched as Kingsley and his attendants left through the fireplace._

_“Draco,” Lucius called to his son._

_Draco had tried to leave the room without speaking to his father. He halted when his name was spoken but did not turn around._

_“The Death Eaters still on the loose will try to kill us if they get the opportunity,” Lucius said sadly, “I may not agree with many of your choices, but I need you to remain safe.”_

_“Thank-you Father,” Draco said stiffly, “But considering how soon my eighteenth birthday is approaching I don’t think Death Eaters will be the biggest threat to my life.”_

_Draco ascended the stairs without another word._

_The memory shifted to outside Malfoy Manor where Draco and Narcissa were entering the front door. The stars struggled to compete with the darkness._

_Draco froze in horror in the doorway of the living room._

_“What the hell are they doing here?” Draco demanded of his father._

_Two Death Eaters stood with Lucius, wearing the black robes._

_“We can rebuild Draco,” Lucius declared with a vicious smile, “The Dark Lord has fallen but another will take his place! We can -”_

_“SHUT UP!” Draco bellowed, “Potter won! It’s time to forget this Pure-blood bullshit and get on with our lives! Muggle-born or pureblood; it’s all the bloody same!”_

_“Your son does not share your views Lucius,” one of the hooded figures growled._

_“He is mistaken,” Lucius said quickly, “He can be -”_

_Draco yelled a spell at the Death Eaters, as did his mother. One fell over in place and the other lost his wand. Lucius responded by casting the Torture curse on Draco._

_His screams filled the hall. Narcissa turned on her husband but her wand was ripped from her hand._

_The third Death Eater threw her wand to the side and imprisoned her against his chest._

_“Your family has turned on you Lucius,” Rookwood growled, “Unless you want to be a widow you will allow us to deal with Draco.”_

_“No!” Narcissa hissed._

_Lucius lowered his wand. Draco struggled to crawl to his feet. The unknown Death Eaters, having recovered from the attack, moved forward to grab Draco._

_Draco fought viciously, kicking and punching the whole way._

_“Take them down to the dungeon,” Rookwood continued, “I understand Draco is already familiar with the chains.”_

_“Lucius, no!” Narcissa pleaded._

_Within minutes the sound of Draco screaming filled the air. Narcissa sobbed._

_“He deserves the fate of a traitor,” Rookwood hissed in her ear._

_Lucius re-emerged from the dungeon and slammed the door behind him. The sound of his son’s cries of pain were abruptly silenced. He was as pale as his hair._

_“Lucius, how could you?” Narcissa screamed._

_Lucius stood up straight and pointed his wand at her, “He will join us, or I will kill him myself!” he bellowed._

_Rookwood released Narcissa and shoved her forward. He handed her wand to her husband._

_“Can you handle them from here?” Rookwood asked scathingly._

_“Of course, I can.”_

_Rookwood headed for the dungeon. When the door opened Draco’s screams were audible again, along with very colourful language directed at his torturers. The door closed and took the noise with it._

_“You came home early!” Lucius hissed, “Another ten minutes and I could have gotten you out without them knowing!”_

_“They’re torturing our son!”_

_“He will live; you can leave as soon as they do. Please Narcissa, this is the only way!”_

_Hermione watched Narcissa sink into the chair and sob into her hands. Even though there was no noise, they all knew Draco was being tortured a room away._

_Finally, the three Death Eaters emerged._

_“He put up a good fight,” Rookwood smirked at Narcissa, “He didn’t pass out until right at the end.”_

_Narcissa glared at him but remained silent._

_“He might need more blood,” Rookwood continued, “If you want him to live.”_


	3. Background

Hermione found herself back in the Burrow, staring at the Pensieve in horror.

“’Draco is already familiar with the chains’?” she repeated to Narcissa.

Narcissa held her gaze for a long sad moment before she picked up the Pensieve and moved it to her other side.

“Arthur; would you like to view the events next?”

While Mr Weasley watched the memory she had just seen, Hermione waited for Narcissa to provide an explanation.

“Lucius would read his mind and for every thought he did not like, Draco would endure a second of the Cruciatus _curse_. If he was still defiant, he would spend the night chained up in the dungeon.”

“That’s sick,” Hermione said flatly.

“That is Lucius’s idea of moulding our son into a man. He wasn’t always such a sadist; he has grown worse over time.”

Hermione kept her eyes on Draco as each member of the family took their turn seeing how Draco had been tortured into such a state. Every nasty comment she had ever heard from Draco had a distinct ring of Lucius behind it. How many times had he called her ‘Mudblood’ just to avoid another second of the Torture curse from his own father?

“So, Malfoy is growing a conscience,” Ron said dismissively, “I guess he’s allowed to live.”

Harry watched Narcissa and Hermione with interest; there was clearly something much deeper going on and it involved the two of them.

“Why does Draco dread his eighteenth birthday?” Hermione asked.

“I cannot explain that yet, but the memories I have collected will cover it.”

Narcissa presented the Pensieve to Hermione again. She brought forth another memory with her wand.

“This memory takes place at the end of your first year of Hogwarts,” Narcissa explained, “Once you have seen it you can decide who else should see it.”

“Why am I making these decisions?” Hermione asked curiously.

Narcissa glanced over at Draco, “They involve you,” she said to Hermione, “You deserve to know the full story.”

_Lucius Malfoy wore the cold, indifferent expression which he had perfected years earlier. Beside him Narcissa watched the train pull into the station with an excited smile._

_Hermione recognised the Hogwarts Express and many of the students in her year level as they exited the train. They looked so young._

_Draco Malfoy walked toward his parents while pulling his trunk behind him. He smiled at his mother, but the expression faded when he turned to regard his father._

_“Welcome back Draco!” Narcissa cried as she surged forward to hug her only son. Hermione recognised the disapproval in Lucius’s face._

_“He is learning to control his emotions Narcissa,” Lucius reprimanded his wife gently, “You are not helping.”_

_The joy at being reunited with his mother faded from Draco’s face to be replaced with the haughty expression which Hermione recognised._

_“How are you Father?” Draco asked._

_Lucius nodded, “Much better. I am well Draco. How was your first year at Hogwarts?”_

_Draco launched into a childish summary of his time which Narcissa listened to with great interest and a proud smile. As they left the train station the surroundings abruptly changed to a large manor._

_Lucius continued to listen to Draco speak and his expression grew colder with each sentence. Hermione listened to Draco complain about her friends and yet when it came to her his tone changed._

_“She is really smart,” Draco gushed, “I don’t know how she can stand those other two twits.”_

_“Draco,” Lucius’s voice cut through what could have been a charming family moment._

_“Yes Father?” Draco’s voice quivered. Hermione realized with mounting concern that Draco was terrified of his father._

_“This girl you are so fascinated with; tell me of her parentage.”_

_Draco gulped, “Um, she is muggle-born,” he whispered._

_Hermione wondered why he didn’t use the term ‘Mudblood’ as she had heard from him numerous times. She realized that she had not heard the term from Draco in a very long time._

_“Then perhaps you should not speak of her with such admiration,” Lucius said coldly._

_Draco shifted so his eyes were fixed on his shoes, “Yes Sir.”_

_“And don’t use the term ‘muggle-born’ if you can instead use Mudblood,” Lucius added, “And when you go back to school I expect you to call her Mudblood to her face as often as possible. That should keep her in her place.”_

_Hermione watched the pain cross Draco’s face; it was a complete contradiction to the sneer she usually saw._

_“Don’t worry Lucius,” Narcissa laughed, though it was strained, “Draco is barely twelve; he is not looking to marry this girl.”_

_Hermione saw the thoughtful expression on Draco’s face even if his parents missed it._

_“Good,” Lucius said with a smirk, “I’d hate to have to have her killed so early in her life.”_

_The horror on Draco’s face entranced Hermione._

_“Your training with Professor Snape will continue from tomorrow night,” Lucius added. Narcissa went out of her way to distract her husband while Draco retreated with his possessions._

Hermione sat back on her heels, clearly concerned. She stared at the Pensieve in silence, until Ron ran out of patience.

“Can we see it?”

Hermione nodded, “Everyone can I guess.”

While each of them took a turn viewing the memory Hermione moved so she was sitting next to Narcissa on the lounge.

“Would Lucius really have killed me just because Draco admired me?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know,” Narcissa replied, “His obsession with blood purity has grown along with other unhealthy pastimes. I know that Draco was sure your life was in danger.”

By the time all of them had witnessed the memory a worried silence had descended over the room.

“Would you prefer to continue in the morning?” Molly suggested.

Hermione glanced at the woman who she thought of as a mother, “I think I need to see these memories tonight. I don’t mind staying up.”

Arthur, Molly, Ron and Ginny were already hiding yawns. Only Harry remained to witness Hermione delving into the Pensieve. He still did not trust Narcissa and nothing could convince him to trust Malfoy.

Molly made sure Narcissa had some blankets for when she needed to sleep. She was unwilling to stray far from Draco, and no-one wanted to move him until they had to.

While Hermione approached the Pensieve, Harry went to the kitchen to get himself a glass of water. He had a clear view of Malfoy’s back as he returned.

His stomach clenched at the deep letters which had been carved into his back to spell BLOOD TRAITOR. Those scars would always be visible on his skin.

Harry tried to imagine the pain and helplessness Malfoy had endured while the message had been cut. He felt quite sick at the thought.

“This was the end of the second year,” Narcissa said, “Lucius didn’t tell me about the Diary until it had been destroyed.”

_Only Narcissa waited for the Hogwarts Express to arrive. The lines of tension around her eyes betrayed her stress._

_Hermione watched as Draco approached. The sneer he wore faded into a grin when he saw his mother. He launched himself forward to hug her._

_“I have missed you Draco,” Narcissa sighed heavily._

_“I missed you too,” Draco replied happily._

_“I hear you represented the family well,” Narcissa whispered._

_Draco frowned, “I called her names,” he admitted, “I’m sure she hates me now.”_

_Narcissa patted his head, “She is safer that way. You-Know-Who will come back one day; if he finds out you like a muggle-born he might order her execution; or worse.”_

_“I know,” Draco sighed, “But I hate it. She looks at me like I’m a piece of dung on the bottom of her shoe. I have to look at her shoulder and keep my eyes on Weasley or Potter when I insult her. If I look at her eyes I just stare like an idiot.”_

_“Your training with Professor Snape will help,” Narcissa assured him, “Only when you are able to keep everyone out of your head will you be able to think freely.”_

_“How often will the sessions be?”_

_“Every second night.”_

_Draco glanced over and Hermione followed his gaze to the younger version of herself. The longing in his face surprised her._

“Can I see it?” Harry asked when Hermione glanced at Malfoy thoughtfully.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, “I think you should. When Ron wakes up he will want to know too.”

While Harry experienced the memory, Hermione found her gaze resting on Malfoy. She found it hard to believe that all his cruelty toward her had been an act for her own benefit. His father may have guided him onto the path of a bully, but he had chosen to follow it.

“He has a crush on you?” Harry said, sounding unconvinced.

Hermione shrugged.

“This was the end of third year,” Narcissa said quietly.

_Once again Lucius was absent from the crowd of parents waiting for the Hogwarts Expression to arrive._

_Hermione could recognise the false sneer Draco wore as he exited the train. He kept it in place as he politely greeted his mother. Rather than leaving for the mansion they remained until all the other families had left._

_Finally, it dropped, though there was enough annoyance to remind Hermione of the way he had treated her throughout the year._

_“The stupid chicken-thing got away with Black,” he complained, “What use are Dementors if they can’t find one guy?”_

_“Black got away with his ‘chicken’,” Narcissa agreed with a smile, “But another servant of the Dark Lord also returned.”_

_“At least Lupin was a decent teacher; too bad he won’t be there next year,” Draco admitted._

_“You cannot say that around your father,” Narcissa said quickly, “Werewolves are shunned worse than muggle-borns.”_

_“I know,” Draco sighed, “They are filthy half-breeds or whatever.”_

_Hermione was very interested in how disinterested he sounded._

_“Professor Snape has reported that your training is progressing well,” Narcissa said, “Your father was pleased by that.”_

_Draco regarded her sceptically, “He is never pleased by anything I do.”_

_“Try to stay out of his way,” Narcissa advised._

_“I always try to avoid him,” Draco muttered, “I’m sick of him using that bloody_ Cruciatus _curse on me because of something I think.”_

Hermione began to feel pity for Draco Malfoy, and it was not something she was comfortable with. She was able to resent him for trying to have Buckbeak executed though; even if excuses could be made for some of his behaviour he was still a vicious brat in that situation.

“We always knew that Voldemort would come back,” Narcissa explained, “The Dark Mark on Lucius’s arm didn’t fade enough to indicate a death. I had mastered Occlumency in my youth, but it wasn’t until he met you that I realized Draco would need it too.”

“I still find it hard to believe that Malfoy didn’t hate me,” Hermione said honestly, “No-one could maintain an act like that for so long without actually believing it.”

Narcissa nodded, “Draco wanted to please his Father so badly that he grew up believing all the Pureblood nonsense. It was not until he met you that he began to realize how stupid it was.”

Hermione moved out of the way so Harry could experience the memory. She picked up one of the blankets and took it over to Malfoy. She covered him from the waist down, knowing that any pressure on his back would be incredibly painful.

Narcissa waited until Harry sat back to continue; “I know what it is like to have to live a lie; to have to assess each word and facial expression to ensure secrets are kept. I never wanted my son to have to experience such a thing, but he chose it willingly.”

“We will be able to tell how much of it was an act when he wakes up,” Harry mused, “I still find it hard to imagine Malfoy without that sneer on his face.”

Narcissa tapped her wand against the Pensieve, “Draco is going to be very angry when he finds out what I am showing you,” she explained, “I would rather seek his forgiveness than his permission.”


	4. Shock

_Hermione saw herself in the luxury box of the Quidditch cup. Draco and his family were also there. She moved closer to the family to observe what was going to happen._

_Draco was staring ahead, clearly very worried._

_“Potter is over there with a Weasley,” Lucius said in a quiet voice, “I assume the Mudblood Granger is the girl with them.”_

_“Yes Sir.”_

_Narcissa glanced at her son with pity before fixing her eyes on the trio in question._

_“How could you be attracted to that?” Lucius asked with disgust._

_“I’m not,” Draco replied flatly, though his clenched fists betrayed his emotions._

_“Yet when I read your mind I found multiple instances where you avoided her rather than insult her last year,” Lucius sneered, “Perhaps you need some more time in the dungeon? Those chains are well-maintained just in case.”_

_“That is not necessary,” Narcissa replied to her husband._

_“Well, for every day you do not insult the girl, you will endure another minute of the_ Cruciatus _curse,” Lucius decided, “Or a lash of the whip; whichever you prefer.”_

_Draco glanced over at the Hermione sitting between her friends with undisguised longing. After a moment the cold expression slipped back into place._

Hermione waved Harry over to view the memory without hesitation. She watched Draco silently until Harry leaned back and met her gaze.

“The next memory takes place after Voldemort was restored to his body,” Narcissa said quietly.

_Draco looked pleased when he exited the Hogwarts Express. Hermione remembered how arrogant he appeared once Voldemort had returned. She was surprised to see alarm replace his sneer when he was alone with his mother._

_“He’s back,” Draco said in lieu of a greeting, “I haven’t mastered Occlumency; he’s going to kill her once he finds out!”_

_“Hopefully the Dark Lord will not be interested in who you have a crush on,” Narcissa suggested, “All you can do is continue your training.”_

_“And try to avoid him,” Draco muttered._

“By this stage Draco was able to obscure some of his thoughts, but anything linked to strong emotions were still far too clear,” Narcissa explained.

“Snape was still teaching him?” Harry asked.

“Yes, and Severus warned me that Draco’s emotions were borderline obsessive in regard to you, Hermione,” Narcissa added, “He was becoming very frustrated that the very thoughts he wanted to hide were the most difficult to conceal.”

“What’s next?” Hermione prompted. She still wanted to know what was so dreadful about Draco’s next birthday.

“After Lucius and the other Death Eaters were arrested at the Ministry of Magic at the end of Fifth year I recorded this memory.”

_Hermione smiled as she watched Draco run around Malfoy Manor like a child. He whooped with joy and slid down the bannisters while grinning._

_Narcissa watched him with a smile, “Are you sixteen or six?” she teased._

_Draco landed awkwardly before bounding to his feet. He hugged his mother tightly before grabbing her hands and dancing around the parlour with her._

_“Who cares?” he crowed, “He’s not here!”_

_Narcissa sighed, “Your Father is in prison, but the Dark Lord is not. Professor Snape will be arriving within the hour. Bellatrix has also offered her assistance.”_

_Draco stood up straight, though his hair was such a mess it was impossible to take him seriously, “How angry is Snake-Eyes?”_

_Narcissa shook her head, “You should not refer to the Dark Lord as that.”_

Hermione giggled at Voldemort being called ‘Snake-Eyes’.

Harry regarded her curiously.

“Draco is rather fond of nicknames,” Hermione said with a smile, “Finally he came up with one I like.”

Harry reached for the Pensieve, clearly wanting to know more.

“I wish Draco would smile more,” Narcissa sighed, “Though considering his upbringing, I understand why he doesn’t.”

Harry chuckled as the memory finished. He had never imagined Draco would be brave enough to call Voldemort ‘Snake-Eyes’ and celebrate the imprisonment of his father.

Hermione reached for the Pensieve but Narcissa held out her hand. Hermione and Harry regarded her curiously.

“This memory is perhaps the most important,” Narcissa explained, “When Draco reacts badly, this will be the memory he is concerned about.”

“Should we skip it or something?” Harry wondered.

“Draco bears the Dark Mark and you need to know why he accepted it,” Narcissa explained to Hermione, “You may not want to share this memory after you see it. This occurred just before he returned to Hogwarts for his Sixth year.”

Harry was bursting with curiosity. Hermione assumed that nothing could be more surprising than finding out Malfoy had been obsessed with her for years.

She was wrong.

_Narcissa watched in horror as the Dark Lord faced her only son with his wand drawn._

_“You are a disappointment to your father,” Voldemort hissed, “Loving a Mudblood? How have you survived this long?”_

_Draco lifted his head to meet the gaze of the evil man in front of him._

_“What do you wish of me?”_

_Hermione admired the bravery which Draco displayed. He did not flinch at the wand pointed at his face._

_“I have a very special assignment for you,” Voldemort said in a low, dangerous voice, “If you succeed I will try to spare the Mudblood; she will be yours.”_

_“And I can treat her as I wish?” Draco clarified._

_Narcissa gasped, clearly terrified that her son was about to be killed._

_“She can be your servant, mistress; I do not care.”_

_“Wife?”_

_“You would pollute your blood by mixing it with hers?” Voldemort asked in a disgusted voice._

_“My Lord,” Narcissa interrupted in a small voice, “May I please explain why my son is so attached to this girl?”_

_Draco looked at his mother in confusion. Clearly he had no idea what she was going to say._

_“Go ahead,” Voldemort hissed while still glaring at Draco._

_“My Lord, I carry a dormant Veela gene, as does Lucius. I fear that Draco has inherited an active version of the gene and recognised the girl as his mate when he first saw her.”_

_Voldemort slowly turned to regard the terrified woman with his thin eyes, “A Veela? How interesting.”_

_Draco stared at his mother in shock, “How could you not tell me?”_

_“I was never sure,” Narcissa admitted, “But to challenge the Dark Lord for her; there is no other explanation.”_

_Voldemort glared at Draco, “You can marry this Mudblood if she survives the war but do not expect your children to be held in high regard.”_

_Draco held out his arm, “Then I accept the Dark Mark and pledge myself to your service.”_

Hermione scrambled away from the Pensieve while her emotions shredded her insides. A _Veela_? It was awful because she only had a vague idea of the fate of Veela’s, and their mates.

“You can’t be serious!” she spat at Narcissa.

“It is true,” Narcissa replied sadly, “I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I am not.”

“Can I see it Hermione?” Harry asked hopefully.

Hermione shook her head, “No. Well, not yet.”

“How about we move on to the next one? This was recorded after Dumbledore died.”

Hermione was staring at Draco, clearly distressed.

“Or we can go to bed?” Harry suggested.

“No,” Hermione decided, “I need to see all of this.”

_Draco lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. A well-worn book with a leather cover lay abandoned next to him._

_A gentle knock at the door drew his attention but he did not get up._

_“Come in,” his voice was dull and clearly depressed._

_Narcissa opened the door and regarded her son worriedly, “Are you going to come down to dinner Draco?” she asked._

_Draco sighed, “I’m not hungry.”_

_Narcissa moved forward to sit on the end of his bed, “You can confide in me; my skills in Occlumency will ensure our conversations remain private.”_

_Draco used his arms to drag his body into a sitting position. The body of a child had been replaced by a lanky teenager._

Hermione admired the width of his shoulders before reminding herself that she was looking at Malfoy.

_“I couldn’t kill Dumbledore,” Draco admitted in a soft voice, “Hermione could die because I couldn’t lift my wand and cast the spell.”_

_Narcissa reached out to rest her hand on his ankle, “If anyone could understand your inability to commit murder it would be her.”_

_Draco blinked at his mother, tears clearly showing in his eyes, “I thought of her too,” he added miserably, “I knew I wouldn’t be able to look her eyes if I murdered in cold blood. She deserves better than that.”_

_“I am proud of you Draco; even with your life in jeopardy you are holding on to your morals and that takes enormous strength.”_

_“He’s going to make me torture people,” Draco said with disgust in his tone, “But I won’t kill them or drive them insane; he can kill me instead.”_

“You can see this one,” Hermione said to Harry. While he viewed the memory, she fetched a glass of water for herself, and one for Narcissa.

“The next one is quite short;” Narcissa said, “Draco was boarding the Hogwarts Express at the beginning of Seventh year.”

_Draco watched the Hogwarts Express pull into the station. He glanced around the platform worriedly._

_“They’re not here,” he realized, “Thank goodness.”_

_“Remember the part you have to play,” Narcissa said gravely, “Her life may depend on it. The Dark Lord is sure that they will return to Hogwarts before this is over.”_

_Draco nodded, “Damn I hope Potter can pull this off; she would hate me if she is presented to me as a gift.”_

_“The more I hear about this girl, the more I like her,” Narcissa said with a smile._

“This one is fine,” Hermione said, still reeling from the revelation that Draco was a Veela and she was apparently his mate.

She kept watching Narcissa, wondering how she could accept a ‘Mudblood’ daughter-in-law so easily. The anger at Draco bargaining for her like food at a market continued to burn in her stomach.

“The next memory will need to remain private,” Narcissa said when Harry pulled away from the Pensieve.

_Draco sat at the dinner table across from his parents. He stared at his food but didn’t eat anything._

Hermione watched as both of his parents ignored him. He looked so miserable that she felt sorry for him.

_A house elf appeared in a flash of magic, drawing the attention of everyone in the room._

_“The Mudblood, Weasley and another have been found,” the elf announced, “Mistress Bellatrix needs Draco to confirm the third is Harry Potter.”_

_Draco stared at the elf in horror, “Granger is here?”_

_“Focus Draco!” Lucius roared, “Forget the Mudblood! Potter is the key.”_

Hermione watched events she remembered from a slightly different viewpoint. Draco claimed he could not confirm if he was looking at Harry, though clearly he recognised him.

_Lucius hustled Draco from the room before he could say something to Hermione._

_Hermione heard her own scream a few moments later and cringed at the memory of being tortured by Bellatrix._

_Draco spun around and lunged at his father in an attempt to get back into the room. His eyes were wild, and he was growling as he fought. He had never looked so inhuman._

_Narcissa ran forward to try to calm her son while Lucius whipped out his wand._

_Draco shoved his mother out of the way and had nearly reached the door when a spell knocked him onto his back._

_“He is stronger already,” Lucius huffed._

_“The Veela blood is nearly ready to assert itself,” Narcissa snapped, “What do you expect with his mate in the next room? Bellatrix is an evil bitch; get in there and make sure the girl survives or I will kill you myself!”_

_Lucius regarded his wife in surprise before nodding._

_“The final battle is drawing near,” Narcissa whispered to Draco as he remained motionless on the floor, “If the Dark Lord wins, she is yours. If he is defeated she will be a hero. I know this is torture for you, but it is the only way. Hogwarts will be the final battleground; you have to be there to protect her.”_


	5. Waiting

Hermione sat on the chair with her arms wrapped around her knees. It was too much to process and she could not discuss it with anyone yet.

Harry sat nearby feeling useless. He wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t even know why she was upset.

“There is only one memory left,” Narcissa said tiredly.

Hermione uncurled her legs and summoned her will to finish what she had started.

_Hermione followed the chaos which was the Battle for Hogwarts from Draco’s point of view. He maintained his act while with his friends, but she could see the way his eyes sought her when he was unobserved._

She saw herself and Ron clinging to each other from the back. The miserable expression Draco wore made her reach out to comfort him before she remembered that she was in a memory.

_A Death Eater pointed a wand at the two of them from behind. Draco turned on him viciously and stunned him with a wordless spell._

_Ron turned as he heard the commotion, but Draco remained hidden._

_“We have to find Harry!” Hermione heard herself say._

_Draco peered around the wall and let them get a good head start before he followed._

The swirl of colours and the momentary silence told Hermione that time had passed.

_Draco and his parents sat at the far end of the Slytherin table silently while the people around them mourned the dead and celebrated the victory._

_“Some of the Death Eaters have escaped,” Lucius whispered._

_“Shut-up,” Draco snapped._

_Narcissa gripped both of their hands in hers. Lucius and Draco regarded each other over her head with hatred but kept the peace for her sake._

_“Both of you remain silent,” Narcissa ordered, “We are Malfoys; we will accept the punishments we deserve.”_

_Draco lost interest in his father when Hermione entered the room, still holding Ron’s hand._

_“It seems the Mudblood has chosen another,” Lucius sneered, “Too bad Draco.”_

_“She’s alive,” Draco whispered hoarsely, “Nothing else matters.”_

Hermione wanted to cry. The expression on Draco’s face in the final moment of the memory was completely heart-broken. How had she missed such longing when it was so clearly etched on his features?

“You can see this one Harry,” she said sadly.

Narcissa watched the young woman with hope. Though surprised by the revelations the younger woman was not disgusted by her son. She knew Draco was quite handsome and clearly Miss Granger was not immune to an attractive male.

She was glad that Hermione was not one to fall for looks alone though; Draco would have to show his intelligence and determination to prove himself worthy of such a woman.

Hermione checked on Draco’s wounds before retiring to bed. Molly would be preparing breakfast in a couple of hours and she had to decide if she was going to share the two unseen memories with Harry, Ron and Ginny.

Harry bid Narcissa goodnight before he left. He still burned with curiosity regarding the two memories Hermione had decided not to share with him.

He was annoyed when Hermione put the Pensieve away and locked the cupboard with a spell. It would take him far too long to try to break into it.

He was worried that this was some elaborate trick to hurt Hermione and he would not let Malfoy do such a thing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione listened to the instructions the Healer gave her and carefully took possession of the vials which she needed.

The Healer left quickly, having made a house call at the request of the Minister for Magic himself.

Ron and Ginny had viewed the same memories she had shared with Harry. The two which mentioned Draco being part Veela remained a secret she shared with Narcissa only.

“At least he’s good to look at,” Ginny mused as Hermione smeared the mixture over the ugly scars on Draco’s back, “While he’s unconscious, anyway.”

“Don’t let Harry year you say that,” Hermione replied with a smile.

“It’s when he starts talking,” Ginny continued, “The more he speaks, the uglier he gets.”

Hermione ached to discuss the two extra memories with Ginny, but she wasn’t sure if it was fair to make her keep it a secret from Harry, who would overreact badly.

“I can see those wheels turning Miss Granger,” Ginny teased, “Why do you look so worried?”

Hermione placed the vial away in a cupboard and washed her hands.

“Ginny, if I show you the last two memories, can you keep it a secret from Harry?” she asked quietly, “I don’t want to put you in this position, but I need to share this.”

“Of course, I can. I know you Hermione; if it’s this important you need to talk it through.”

Hermione pulled out the Pensieve with quick movements before she could change her mind. Though she trusted her friends, she knew how curious Harry and Ron could be; if they thought she was in some sort of trouble they would ignore her decision and view the memories anyway.

Ginny was worried. Hermione was clearly disturbed. She kept ringing her hands and staring at Draco while biting her lip. Ginny could not imagine what could distress her friend so much.

Hermione watched Ginny as she experienced the memory. Would she be angry? Would she claim the memory was somehow false?

Ginny sat back in confusion. She glanced up at Hermione, who called forth the next memory.

Draco moaned in his sleep, which snapped Hermione’s attention back to him. The Healer had assured her that her patient would not wake for another few hours.

“We need to talk,” Ginny said flatly.

Hermione led the way up to Ginny’s room and cast spells to make sure nothing could be heard through the door or window.

“A Veela?” Ginny said, sounding almost hysterical, “A bloody Veela?”

Hermione sat on her bed and buried her head in her hands, “I know.”

“Hermione, have you read about part-Veela’s, especially the males?” Ginny demanded.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, “But nothing too specific.”

“The animal instincts!” Ginny realized, “He’s going to come after you. Harry and Ron are going to kill him; though considering how strong Veelas are he’d take at least one of them out first.”

Hermione rubbed her forehead, “Veelas get jealous?” she remembered.

“Insanely jealous,” Ginny confirmed, “Like ripping limbs off males who touch you.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Well it won’t kick in until his birthday; we’ll have to find out when that is,” Ginny decided, “Do you want to keep away from him or give this a chance? Shit, you’re going out with Ron!”

“Actually, Ron and I, we broke up yesterday,” Hermione admitted.

Ginny gaped at her, “Why?”

Hermione offered a small smile, “We realized we were better off friends. He called me Ginny by accident and then admitted kissing me just felt wrong. I had suspected something was not right.”

“Sorry,” Ginny offered, clearly not sure what to say.

Hermione shrugged, “At least we figured it out early, and we didn’t stuff up our friendship.”

Ginny had always liked the idea of having Hermione as a sister-in-law. The idea that she was going to be pursued by Malfoy of all people scared her.

“We need to find a book on Veela’s,” Ginny decided, “I didn’t even know that they could recognise their mate before their eighteenth birthday.”

Hermione knew there wouldn’t be anything useful in her book collection, so Ginny led the way to the shelves where her parents stored the books Fred and George hadn’t managed to destroy.

“Nothing!” Hermione complained after an hour of searching, “We’re going to have to ask Narcissa.”

“Ask her what?” Harry asked from behind her.

Hermione shrieked and spun around at the same time. She lost her grip on the book in her hand and the force of her abrupt turn sent it straight into Harry’s stomach.

“Shit!” Harry huffed, clutching at his midsection.

“Sorry!” Hermione apologized, “You scared me!”

“Apparently,” Ron said from behind Harry, “Mum sent us up to fetch you two for lunch.”

Hermione and Ginny gave up their fruitless search and followed the enticing scent of food.

“Should we try to wake Sleeping Boofhead?” Ron asked as they reached the ground floor.

“No,” Hermione replied shortly, “He should wake naturally in a couple of hours.”

“Pity,” Harry said, “I prefer him this way.”

“Do you think he will freak out when he realizes where he is?” Ron asked, “If we’re lucky he’ll try to escape and splinch himself into a wall or something.”

“That would make an interesting wall trophy,” Ginny mused, “We could add a pair of horns and claim we shot him out in the swamp.”

Hermione was giggling with the rest of them by the time they reached the dining table.

Narcissa was seated between Molly and Ginny, directly across from Hermione. While she ate she wondered how she was going to hide the Veela issue from Ron and Harry. She felt bad for withholding the information from her two best friends, but she would feel worse if they strangled Malfoy while he was too weak to defend himself.

“Narcissa, when is Draco’s birthday?” Ginny asked abruptly.

Narcissa froze. Her eyes flicked to Hermione before sliding over to the youngest Weasley child.

“You have seen the final two memories,” Narcissa stated.

Ginny flushed, “Yeah.”

Harry and Ron both turned to Hermione wearing hurt expressions.

“No,” Hermione said to the two of them, “If you know, you’ll make this mess bigger than ever.”

Narcissa cleared her throat to gain their attention, “Draco’s birthday is tomorrow.”

Hermione and Ginny stared at each other in horror. There was not enough time to research anything.

Molly was watching the exchange with shrewd eyes, “I am beginning to think we all need to see those last two memories.”

“You can see the memories later tonight,” Hermione decided.

“Why do we have to wait?” Ron wondered.

“Draco should have some control over this,” Hermione said tightly, “It’s his secret.”

Harry and Ron didn’t like what they were hearing, and they know that Hermione and Ginny were too stubborn to give in to anything they could say or do. Neither one liked the idea that Hermione was somehow loyal to their nemesis.

“Draco is going to be very upset that I have shown you anything,” Narcissa added, “His entire world has been turned upside-down since last night.”

Ginny and Hermione shared a worried glance, both knowing that Draco was not the only one whose life had been altered.

“Well; this sucks,” Ron complained around a mouthful of food, “Since when are we not good enough to be let in on secrets?”

Linna appeared next to the table in a flash of magic, “Mistress, Draco is waking up.”

Hermione dropped her fork in a clatter, “He’s not supposed to be up yet.”

Narcissa abandoned her meal, “Draco’s _condition_ has affected his ability to heal,” she explained as she left the room.

“What condition?” Harry wondered.

“He’s dying!” Ron exclaimed, “Well, that’s sad. Can you pass the salt?”

Hermione glared at him, “If you were any more immature you would be in nappies.”

“I’m not being immature,” Ron complained, “More hopeful.”

“Ronald,” Molly said in a threatening tone, “I don’t care how much you dislike this young man, if I hear you hoping for his demise again I will visit you at Hogwarts every weekend and tell all your female friends that you still wet the bed.”

Ginny laughed so hard she nearly choked on her food. Ron stared at his mother in horror.

“You wouldn’t,” he pleaded.

Molly remained impassive, “I never bluff Ronald.”

“Sorry,” Ron muttered, “I don’t actually want him to die, just disappear from our lives forever.”


	6. The Full Picture

Draco blinked up at his mother in confusion, immediately wondering why his back was so sore. He was relieved to see she was unharmed.

“We’re safe, Draco,” Narcissa assured him.

“Where are we?” Nothing looked familiar, and that worried him.

“We are at The Burrow.”

Draco remained confused.

“The home of the Weasley family.”

Realization dawned on the young Malfoy, “Good idea,” he admitted reluctantly, “Death Eaters could never get a spy in here.”

Narcissa helped Draco to his feet and led him to the bathroom. She promised to get him some lunch and left him to it.

Draco recalled the previous night in terrible detail. He was sure he was going to be haunted by nightmares for a very long time.

He glanced down at his bare chest in irritation; the last thing he wanted was to be ridiculed by Potter and Weasley that he was wandering around their house half-naked. Sadly, the pain in his back ruled out wearing any sort of clothing in the short-term.

How was he going to face them? Even if he managed to stay on his feet rather than dropping to his knees in front of Hermione and begging for her forgiveness there was a lot of humiliation in store for him. He was going to have to tolerate Potter and Weasley for the length of his stay in their house without cursing them out of his life. He was sure Hermione would not even consider an apathetic friendship with him if he was cruel to her friends.

Draco had never felt more exhausted in his life and yet there was a tiny spark of pride buried deep within his chest. He had taken a stand against the Death Eaters without hesitation. He had always feared that he would be as cowardly as his father in order to survive. Though logically it made no sense, he was glad to find that he was more courageous than he had believed.

“This way,” Narcissa said kindly as he exited the bathroom.

Draco was scanning the cluttered room with interest. He had never tried to imagine how the Weasley family lived while he was parroting the rubbish his father had instilled into his head. Compared to the Manor, the Burrow was very odd.

“It’s not at all like Malfoy Manor is it?” his mother asked gently.

Draco offered her the ghost of a smile, “The Manor is ….” He struggled to think of an appropriate adjective.

“Cold,” Narcissa provided.

Draco nodded, “Almost sterile,” he agreed, “This is a real house.”

“This is a home,” Narcissa said, “With family, love and warmth. I’m sorry I was never able to provide that for you Draco.”

He allowed her to lead him into the next room, “You tried,” he assured her, “Even when Lucius was at his worst, I knew you cared behind the disinterested façade.”

Narcissa appreciated his efforts to reassure her but the guilt remained. She had done her duty in marrying and staying with her Pureblood husband at the expense of her son’s happiness.

Molly frowned when Hermione and Ginny disappeared under the invisibility cloak which had been summoned from upstairs. Arthur didn’t care what the girls were doing; he was concerned by how quickly Ron and Harry abandoned the remains of their lunch and took off outside to avoid Malfoy.

Draco braced himself against the doorframe with one hand, still trying to figure out how to move without increasing his discomfort.

Molly shifted into mothering mode, inviting Draco to sit down and fetching him a plate of food. Draco was clearly unsure of how to react, so he sat rigidly in his chair and thanked her with manners which had been firmly ingrained into him as a child.

“Welcome to the Burrow, Draco,” Arthur Weasley said with a smile.

Draco remembered every insulting thing he had ever said about the Weasley Patriarch and wanted to melt into his chair.

“Thank-you, Mr Weasley,” Draco managed.

“Call me Arthur,” came the cheerful reply, “The Ministry wanted to make sure there was an official here to keep the two of you safe, so I volunteered. I’ve never been paid to read the paper at my own house before.”

“You know you’ll spend half the day in your home office catching up on paperwork,” Molly pointed out to her husband. She placed her cup of tea on the table and passed another to Narcissa.

“I appreciate your hospitality,” Draco said, clearly uncomfortable, “After my past behaviour I would have understood waking up in the swamp.”

Under the cloak Ginny smothered a giggle; that had been her first suggestion once her parents were out of earshot.

“Considering the circumstances, we’re very glad to see you,” Molly said graciously, “It has been far too long, and we are family after all.”

Draco didn’t realize how hungry he was until he began eating. The conversation continued without him as he thoroughly appreciated his meal. He could not smother the feeling that he was being watched, even when all three parents were chatting.

“Will you be returning to Hogwarts in September, Draco?” Arthur asked him casually.

Draco hadn’t given a thought to completing his education after the disaster of May. Before he could reply Narcissa smiled over her cup of tea and answered for him;

“Most definitely. I expect Draco to excel in Defence against the Dark Arts and Potions in particular.”

Draco finished his meal and lowered his cutlery, “I’m sure I will receive such a warm welcome at Hogwarts,” he muttered.

Molly whisked away his plate after being assured that he was full and didn’t need an extra plate of food. He wondered how the Weasley children remained at a healthy weight with so much food on offer.

“I understand that Professor McGonagall has decided that last year was so disrupted that all students are to repeat,” Arthur said, folding his paper and placing it on the table, “Though you will be following the Seventh Year curriculum, you will be known as Eighth Years.”

“That makes sense,” Molly agreed, “I’m sure the children will be relieved to know they have not been disadvantaged.”

“With three months here, I’m sure you will become friends with Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny,” Arthur said hopefully, “I will be curious to know how many of your year-level return to Hogwarts.”

Draco was sure most, if not all, of the other Slytherins would change schools rather than return to Hogwarts. As tempting as it was to run away from the judgement’s others would make, he wasn’t going to consider any school unless Hermione was there too. A whole year to earn her friendship without his ‘friends’ in the way gave him hope.

“And who will be teaching Defence against the Dark Arts?” Molly added, “I swear that position must have been cursed by Voldemort.”

Draco was still uncomfortable hearing the name; the mark on his arm had faded until only patches remained. Lucius had assured him that in a few more weeks it would be completely gone.

“Snake-Eyes probably did curse it,” Draco decided.

Though Molly and Arthur had seen the visions Hermione had allowed them to witness, hearing Draco call Voldemort ‘Snake-Eyes’ still made them chuckle.

“I should recommend Bill for the position,” Arthur mused, “His experience as a Curse-Breaker could make all the difference.”

“The Healer left an ointment for you,” Molly said to Draco, “Hermione did what she could to heal the wounds but there was some sort of poison in the blade. You will need to see her twice a day until it heals properly.”

Draco hated the idea of Hermione seeing him weak and wounded yet seeking her out twice a day for treatment worked in his favour.

“I’m sure that won’t be a problem,” Arthur said, “Hermione has considered taking an Apprenticeship with a Healer after she graduates so you’ll be in good hands.”

Narcissa slowly lowered her cup of tea to rest on the table. Draco was too distracted by the prospect of spending time alone with Hermione to notice the serious expression on her face.

“Draco,” she began heavily, “You should know that I brought the Pensieve with me.”

Draco froze, the words hanging in the air.

“I made sure everyone knew what had transpired last night,” Narcissa continued.

Draco relaxed slightly. If that was the only memory shared his secrets were still safe.

“Then I showed Hermione everything in there.”

Draco gaped at his mother, “You didn’t.”

“I did. She chose to keep two of the memories to herself, but the others have been seen by everyone else here.”

“She was never supposed to know!” Draco exploded, shoving his chair back and standing up. He winced at the pain in his back.

“She has the right to know,” Narcissa argued regally without getting up.

“She was supposed to marry Weasley, have a bunch of red-headed children and never give me a second thought!” Draco yelled.

“Your life is at stake Draco,” Narcissa replied coldly, “It’s time to stop being a martyr.”

Draco stepped around the chair, still fuming at the interference in his life.

“I’m not being a bloody martyr!” he yelled, “I’m being a realist. She hates me!”

The swish of fabric and the sudden appearance of Hermione and Ginny in the corner of the room silenced the conversation.

Draco stared at Hermione, taking in the confidence in her stance and the anger in her eyes.

“You’re an idiot, Malfoy,” Ginny spat, “If there is one thing that pisses off a woman it’s having some prat make decisions for her.”

Hermione glared at him until Ginny pulled her outside for some fresh air. Draco was following automatically, desperately wanting to say something to take back all the pain he had inflicted on her for so many years.

“Well that could have gone better,” Arthur mused, “I’d still like to know what is so special about those last two memories though.”

“I’m sure Hermione will bring out the Pensieve later this evening,” Narcissa agreed, “You both deserve to know why your house is going to be so disruptive in the short-term.”

Molly reached out to lay her hand on her arm, “Narcissa, you and Draco are welcome to stay as long as you need. The house has been so quiet without the rest of the boys.”

“Even if the memories remain unseen until tonight, I can explain anyway,” Narcissa decided, “How much do you know about the Veela gene which runs in Pureblood families?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry flew underneath Ron’s broom, rolling sideways to avoid his friend’s outstretched hand. Tag was much more fun in three dimensions.

Ron changed directions and sailed toward the ground. He left the broom on the grass and ran toward the house.

Harry was only a few moments behind, recognising the anger on Ginny’s face and the distress Hermione was trying to hide.

“What did that git do?” Ron asked immediately. Hermione let him pull her into a hug while Ginny clung to Harry for comfort.

Hermione shook her head against his chest, indicating that she wasn’t going to explain.

“Come off it, Hermione,” Ron complained, “How can we hex him into next week if we don’t know what he did?”

“Since when is a Slytherin all noble and self-sacrificing?” Ginny demanded of the group, “It’s just weird.”

“He wants to avoid me,” Hermione admitted, “So I can marry you and have a bunch of kids.”

Ron smiled at that, “Would that be so bad?”

Hermione sighed and gently pushed him away, “Ron, you know it won’t work. You said kissing me was like kissing your sister.”

“Oy!” Ginny cried, “Which sister is that Ronald? I’ve never kissed you on the mouth!”

“Thank goodness for small mercies,” Harry muttered.

Back near the house, concealed by vegetation, Draco watched Hermione hold onto Weasley for comfort. The anger which built up inside his chest only increased his frustration.

He had no right to be possessive. She was not his to care for and protect and she never would be. He gathered the remains of his dignity and stood up as straight as he could before his back reminded him of the wound.

Draco walked away from the group of friends without another thought. He ignored the ache in his chest and did not see the four sets of eyes which turned in his direction once he left the cover of the trees.


	7. Revealed

“How can he look like an arrogant berk even from a distance?” Ron wondered aloud.

Harry shrugged, “Years of practise?”

Hermione sat down next to Ginny, too tired to do anything. Usually she would face challenges head on, but she just wanted to hide.

“I wish we could just go back to hating him,” Ginny complained.

“Speak for yourself,” Ron replied, “I never stopped hating him.”

“What if he _is_ dying?” Harry asked.

“I can hate him until he actually dies.”

The tone of Ron’s voice made the decision for her. Even after the memories he had seen, he still wasn’t willing to give Malfoy a chance.

“Draco accepted the Dark Mark only when Voldemort promised to spare my life,” Hermione said dully.

Ginny watched as her brother and her boyfriend stared at Hermione in utter shock.

“Yep, he did,” she confirmed before they could try to come up with some rubbish excuse, “And he insisted that she not be his servant or mistress, but his wife. He made sure that if Snake-Eyes won the war, Hermione would have a life left to live.”

“Of course, I would have made his life hell,” Hermione admitted, “Especially if I was handed over like some bloody Christmas present.”

Harry sat down slowly, struggling to comprehend what he was hearing. His head ached as he tried to overlay the boy he had known with the man willing to go so far for the girl who had hated him.

“He tried to save me when I was being tortured too,” Hermione added, “He attacked both his parents and had to be knocked out.”

Ron was still shaking his head. Ginny knew from experience just how thick he could be.

“You might as well show them the last two memories,” Ginny encouraged her friend.

Hermione sighed, “Fine, but we do it right now while he’s out sulking.”

“I don’t think he’s sulking,” Ron muttered, “Just plotting our deaths.”

While Hermione retrieved the Pensieve for Harry and Ron to view. Ginny let her parents know what was going on, so they were kept up to date too.

Narcissa watched the proceedings carefully. She knew that Miss Granger was already seeing her son in a different light, which gave her hope that a friendship could grow between them before they returned to school.

Her real concern lay with the two boys who struggled to speak after seeing the last memories. They had a strong influence on the only woman who could save Draco’s life.

“We saw Veelas at the Quidditch Cup,” Harry remembered, “That’s all I know about them.”

“Didn’t we have a book on them once?” Ron wondered aloud.

“Fred and George decided it would make a good kite when they were twelve,” Arthur explained.

Narcissa smiled at the image of two naughty boys turning books into kites.

“I always wanted a big family,” she said sadly, “Unfortunately most Pureblood marriages rarely have more than one surviving child. Too much inbreeding and not enough common sense.”

“Doesn’t the introduction of Veela blood mean the line is no longer ‘Pureblood’,” Hermione asked curiously.

“In the strictest interpretation, yes,” Narcissa replied, “Yet during the fourteenth century the lack of children became so serious that six male cousins were selected to take a Veela as a mate.”

“So, by now every Pureblood family has some Veela blood in it,” Molly continued.

“Lucius and I were warned when we were married,” Narcissa admitted, “The blonde hair is a warning sign we should have heeded. Unfortunately, my marriage was arranged, and all the other suitors were even more closely related.”

“Arranged marriages,” Ginny said with a shudder, “That’s a scary thought.”

“No need to worry about that,” Arthur assured his daughter, “The advantage of being Blood Traitors; no-one gives a toss who we marry.”

Hermione giggled at his flippant tone, “So you haven’t organised a Pureblood bride for Ron since we’ve decided to remain friends?”

Molly and Arthur were initially dismayed yet hid their feelings well.

“There are not many Pureblood families left,” Arthur mused, “Even the Abbott and Bulstrode girls in your year are half-blood now.”

“How about Pansy Parkinson?” Ginny giggled.

Ron pretended to gag.

“I must say, I am in many ways relieved that Draco is part-Veela,” Narcissa admitted, “Miss Parkinson would have been one of the only choices left if Lucius had his way; as if the Malfoy gene pool didn’t already have enough problems.”

Hermione and Harry were laughing into their hands in a half-hearted attempt to be polite. Ron and Ginny didn’t even bother trying to cover their amusement.

“Back to the Veela gene,” Molly redirected seriously, “How is this going to affect Hermione? Clearly Draco had been drawn to her for years.”

Narcissa sat up, the aristocratic lady hiding the emotional turmoil within, “Tomorrow afternoon the change will begin,” she said simply, “The stronger the gene, the faster it will finish. There is very little precedent to work with as all the other part-Veelas in living memory have been female. If you are his mate Hermione, I expect he will seek you out as soon as he is able.”

Ron and Harry were clearly suspicious of what Draco would do once he found her. Ginny was equally unhappy, though more adept at hiding her concerns.

“He will need to be near you for his own emotional stability,” Narcissa said to Hermione, “His obsession with you over the years will pale in comparison. He will always know where you are, or at least which direction to follow to find you. As his nineteenth birthday approaches his instincts will demand he secure the bond.”

“If I am his mate,” Hermione repeated hopefully, “There is a chance that I’m not I assume?”

“Anything can happen, but I would bet all the gold in the Malfoy vault that he will wake up and look for you.”

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Draco sat in the shade of a tree with his legs stretched out in front of him. He leaned back on his arms to keep the pressure off his back.

The ability to block all his emotions and wear an expressionless mask had been hard to master and he suspected, impossible to unlearn. His cold façade had kept most people away and fooled the other members of Slytherin into believing that he believed everything his father had spewed during his childhood.

Draco had spent so long making sure he survived that he had pushed aside any thoughts of the future. He had honestly believed that he would not live to endure the painful transformation determined by his Veela blood.

Even though Voldemort was dead, his Death-Eaters were still hanging around causing trouble. He knew he could remain in Hogwarts safely; he was worried about his mother. She had been isolated from the sane members of her family for too long.

Draco pushed aside his own distress to focus on Narcissa Malfoy. The solution came to him so fast that he chided himself for being so self-absorbed that he had not thought of it before.

He tried to stand up without giving a thought to the wound on his back. A sharp stab of pain ripped a snarl and a curse word from his throat.

“That was stupid,” a female voice pointed out.

Draco glanced over at the youngest Weasley who was regarding him haughtily. The sensation of a warm liquid seeping along his shoulder-blade did not bode well.

“Thanks for the sympathy, Weasley,” he groaned as he awkwardly raised himself to his feet.

“My brother is ‘Weasley’ to you. I want a different nickname.”

The feisty redhead was almost entertaining.

“Mini-Molly?”

“Nicknames are supposed to be shorter that the given name.”

“Weaslette?”

“Hmmm, maybe.”

“So, are you enjoying the lovely view of the swamp or do you have a reason for stalking me?” Draco asked snidely.

“There’s the old Malfoy,” Weaslette said with a smirk, “As arrogant as ever. I thought you should know that everyone knows about the Veela thing.”

The mask of haughty indifference slipped over his face, “Lovely,” he said sarcastically, “Has the dream team figured out how to kill me yet?”

Ginny shrugged, “Years ago, but you were never worth the effort. Hermione needs to treat your back again and she’s going to be pissed if you keep her waiting.”

Without another word she headed back to the house. Draco followed slowly, wondering when the annoying Weasley sister had turned into a sassy woman.

Draco studied the Burrow as he approached, taking his time to admire the odd way levels had been stacked on top of each other. Without magic the whole structure would have fallen over not long after it was constructed.

Compared to the Manor it was crude, yet knowing the atmosphere of the cold mansion he had grown up in he was able to admire the Burrow as a sanctuary for a real family. He tried to imagine what it would have been like growing up with the Weasley family; a warm smile over breakfast, a hug and rowdy siblings to keep him company. The silent, regal meals he had experienced were unappealing in comparison.

Draco could count on one hand how many times his parents had hugged him, and most of them had occurred in the last month.

He knew he was a cold, snobbish bastard because that was how he was raised. He feared than not even Hermione could break through the walls he had built around himself.

Draco didn’t notice the slight movements of the curtains in the dining room or the two pairs of eyes which observed him.

“He might be a prat, but he’s easy on the eyes,” Ginny commented quietly. Only she and Hermione had left the discussion in the living room. Both of them kept glancing behind to make sure no-one came over to hear their conversation.

“When did that happen?” Hermione complained, “The skinny little turd I met in First Year should not be allowed to develop shoulders like that.”

Ginny giggled, “Nice arms,” she decided, “Muscled but not too lumpy.”

“Sinewy? Is that the right word?”

“He needs to turn around so we can see his butt,” Ginny added.

“You have Harry,” Hermione pointed out.

“I’m taken, not blind,” Ginny replied, “It’s like window shopping; look but don’t touch.”

“I see,” Hermione was glad her friend was supporting the situation, especially when her male friends were still a room away complaining about it.

“You can touch,” Ginny encouraged her, “Just make sure Ron doesn’t see.”

The noise in the living room changed, instead of arguing Ron and Harry were listening. Hermione tapped Ginny on the shoulder before re-joining the rest of the family.

“I don’t like this, and I don’t trust him at all,” Ron declared irritably.

“That’s fine Ron,” Hermione replied coldly, “It’s none of your business. You know what is going on because I don’t want you causing problems later. Your opinions are not required.”

Narcissa hid her smile, knowing Miss Granger did not need her encouragement.

“Hermione, we only broke up yesterday!” Ron exclaimed, suddenly on his feet, “I will always care about you! You can’t just expect me to shrug my shoulders and watch you get hurt.”

Hermione understood that he was trying to be protective and he had no subtlety at all. Harry watched his best friends worriedly, clearly not knowing if he was required to take a side.

She took a deep breath to calm herself, “Ron, I understand, and I appreciate your concern. If I am in danger you will be the first person I seek for help okay?”

He nodded, “Thank-you.”

“But if there is no danger I need you stomp on that ingrained hatred,” Hermione said reasonably, “Clearly we need time to get to know Malfoy all over again.”

Harry sighed, “I can’t say I like the idea but he deserves that at least,” he conceded, “But if I hear him call you a nasty name even once I’m going to hex him into the swamp.”  
“And I’ll help,” Ginny decided. Her eyes widened as she noticed something behind Hermione.

“A second chance is more than I deserve,” Draco said stiffly, “Thank-you.”


	8. Gnomes

Hermione watched Draco as he retreated into the dining room by stepping backwards rather than turning around. The reminder of the condition of his back gave her something to focus on.

“I think he hurt his back standing up,” Ginny said to Hermione, “He is probably too stubborn to admit it, though.”

“It’s not stubbornness,” Narcissa broke in, “Purebloods are taught to never show emotion as it is a weakness.”

“That’s stupid,” Ginny decided.

“Yes, but that is how it is.”

Hermione fetched the vial the Healer had left without hesitation. Ron watched her go to Malfoy without another word. He bit his tongue to stop the comment bubbling up in his throat. Memories of watching Hermione cry over the bullying she had endured from Malfoy rose in his mind.

“Let’s go back outside while the weather is nice,” Harry suggested. He could see the turmoil in his best friend and knew he needed to be distracted very quickly.

“The garden needs de-gnoming,” Molly provided.

Harry, Ron and Ginny allowed themselves to be ushered out the front door toward the garden. Narcissa took the opportunity to explain to Molly and Arthur that if Hermione was Draco’s mate, and she rejected him, he would die on his nineteenth birthday. She kept her voice as quiet as possible, so Hermione did not overhear.

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“Sit down,” Hermione ordered Draco before he could disappear out the back door.

Draco experienced a moment of indecision and quashed the urge to run away. He sat down carefully and kept his eyes on the table in front of him.

Hermione studied his back and quickly realized that the angle was completely wrong to access the entire wound.

“This won’t work,” she said aloud, “Back in the living room.”

Draco groaned, “Do I have to?”

“Harry, Ron and Ginny were kicked out to degnome the garden; they can’t harass you.”

Draco stood up obediently and turned toward the doorway, much faster than Hermione was expecting. A solid wall of chest appeared in front of her face before she could step back.

Draco smirked at the shrill sound she emitted and caught her elbows in his hands.

“Um, thanks,” Hermione managed, “You’re quick.”

“Quidditch reflexes,” he explained.

Hermione could feel the blush burning her cheeks as she backed away from Draco and reached for the vial of healing potion on the table.

“Quit smirking at me,” she muttered before striding back into the living room.

Draco admired her legs and backside before rearranging his features into the disinterested mask he had perfected well before puberty.

Molly had her knitting on her lap while Narcissa was writing on a piece of parchment. Arthur was no-where to be seen.

“Face-down on the couch,” Hermione ordered.

Draco awkwardly cooperated while his mother watched their interaction with sharp eyes.

“You ripped it open,” Hermione complained, withdrawing her wand to remove the blood.

“I didn’t mean to,” Draco replied into the fabric of the cushion under his face.

“It’s deep and according to the Healer there was something on the blade interfering with the healing process,” Hermione said as she reached for the vial.

“Great, I guess the Death Eaters really like me.”

“If Hermione uses her wand to gag you, I won’t be helping you,” Narcissa said sweetly.

“You’re supposed to be on my side Mother,” Draco muttered to her.

“Only when I feel like it,” Narcissa clarified.

Hermione continued to administer the potion to his back and Draco enjoyed feeling her hands on him, even if it was only to treat a bad wound which would scar horribly.

“Hermione?” He said hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“What did they carve into my back?”

Molly paused in her knitting and shared a pained look with Narcissa. Hermione hesitated before straightening her spine.

“Blood Traitor.”

Draco sighed, “Well, it could have been worse. Please, I have to know something really important.”

“Okay,” Hermione managed.

“Death Eaters are often complete morons; did they at least spell it correctly?”

Hermione broke down into giggles, swiftly followed by Molly and Narcissa. Draco waited anxiously.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, “They clearly consulted a dictionary first.”

“Thank Merlin,” Draco replied, “I was worried they’d spell blood with a ‘U’ and put a ‘Y’ in traitor.”

More giggling from an apparently empty corner of the room filled Hermione with suspicion. She glared at the spot where the noise came from.

“Take that cloak off right now,” Molly ordered.

In a rustle of fabric Harry, Ron and Ginny were revealed with messy hair and in Ginny’s case a silly grin. Harry was trying to hide a smile, too.

“You just couldn’t keep quiet,” Ron complained to his sister.

“Sorry,” Ginny replied, sounding completely unrepentant as her giggling still continued, “He may be a jerk, but that was funny.”

Harry bundled the cloak up and returned upstairs to put it away before Molly could yell at him.

“Thank-you, Weaslette,” Draco said graciously, “I wish your brother had a sense of humour too.”

Ron glared at Malfoy before stalking upstairs to get away from the blonde. He didn’t want to see Hermione touching him ever again.

“We’ve been trying to develop one for years,” Ginny assured him.

“You have a garden to degnome,” Molly reminded her.

“Yes, mum,” she muttered as she headed for the door, “Harry! Ron! Get out to the garden with me or I’ll put the gnomes in your room!”

Draco could hear them thumping down the stairs, which drowned out all conversation.

“She’s done it before,” Ron was saying as he reached the ground floor.

“Technically adults, my left foot,” Molly sighed after them as they exited the house.

“Another year at Hogwarts should help,” Narcissa chimed in.

Hermione finished treating the wound and left to wash her hands.

“Speaking of Hogwarts,” Draco began.

“Yes?” Narcissa waited for him to try to get out of his final year of schooling.

“I won’t complain at all on one condition.”

“State your terms.”

“You try to reconcile with your sister,” Draco finished.

Narcissa nodded thoughtfully, “It seems so silly now. I hate how much my parents influenced my thinking.”

“And Lucius,” Draco added.

Molly blinked away the tears which gathered in her eyes, “That awful war should have some positive outcomes,” she said shakily, “I hope more families push aside the blood-prejudice rubbish to reconnect.”

“I’ll go help with the garden,” Hermione said, wanting to escape thoughts of the family she would never see again.

“Go with her Draco,” Narcissa ordered, “You need to tell her what is going to happen tomorrow afternoon.”

Draco lifted himself up with his arms, and Hermione found herself admiring the strength he showed.

“Stop pushing Mother,” he said through gritted teeth as he stood up.

“If I don’t do it, no-one will,” she replied smartly, “Miss Granger is very intelligent; she is going to get back to Hogwarts and research everything ever written about Veela. There are some things she should learn from you.”

Draco clenched his fists, “We have months before that happens,” he growled, clearly uncomfortable having the conversation with Hermione in the room.

“Actually, Arthur heard a rumour that Eighth-Years will be required to come back early,” Molly said.

“Come on Malfoy,” Hermione sighed, “When I get sick of throwing gnomes over the fence you can tell me about tomorrow.”

Draco glared at his mother, who only waved her hand as though dismissing a servant.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ron poured all of his anger and frustration into the job at hand. He had never thrown a gnome so far in his life. In his mind every single one had blonde hair and a face like a ferret.

Ginny and Harry kept their distance, knowing that he was on the brink of exploding. They shared concerned glances but wisely said nothing. After a few minutes they abandoned the gnome-hunt completely.

When Hermione and Draco emerged from the house Ginny and Harry pretended to be hunting for their quarry just close enough to overhead the conversation. The overgrown vegetation obscured them quite well.

“So, what is going to happen tomorrow?” Hermione asked tiredly.

She considered joining Ron in the garden but the fury in his movements kept her at bay. She did not want to add the spark to the red-haired powder-keg who had recently been her boyfriend. Instead she sat down under the shade of a tree and patted the grass beside her invitingly.

Draco sat down carefully with his legs crossed beneath him. He had to sit up quite straight to avoid damaging his back.

“I was born at 1:37pm on the 5th of June,” he said while staring at the grass in front of him, “Tomorrow at 1:37pm the Veela gene will activate. I will be in agony for anywhere between one and ten hours. The faster the transformation is completed, the stronger the Veela characteristics will be.”

“We can set up the shed if you want some privacy, with silencing charms,” Hermione offered, “What happens when the pain stops?”

Draco glanced at her and she clearly saw fear in his eyes, “I will be overwhelmed by Veela instincts. If you have any sense you will add magic-strengthened chains in that shed. Or flee the country; either one would help.”

“If the chains don’t hold, what should I expect?” Hermione didn’t flinch, her pride wouldn’t let him see how nervous he made her.

“I’m not sure,” Draco admitted, his shame building in his chest, “But the instinct to find my mate will be the strongest. A Veela can never deliberately hurt their mate…..”

“But?”

“If anyone gets in the way I could hurt them,” he admitted, “And Veela have the ability to seduce members of the opposite sex.”

“So, if we assume I am your mate -”

“You are,” Draco grunted.

“Will I still have free will?”

Disgust welled up inside Draco, “Of course! I’m not a bloody rapist.”

He surged to his feet and headed back to the spot near the swamp where Weaslette had found him earlier, his long strides covering the distance effortlessly.

Hermione dropped her head into her hands and tried not to cry. She hated how helpless she felt.

Harry and Ginny watched Draco leave and Hermione drown in her own anxiety. Ginny gripped his hand for support.

Ron continued to mutter insults under his breath and cursed loudly when there were no more gnomes left to vent his rage on.

Hermione watched Ron run out of gnomes and searched for something else to distract himself. She wished she had the invisibility cloak.

“It’s already happening, isn’t it?” Ron demanded of her, “You don’t look at him and see the prat who bullied you for years anymore. You’re actually considering this Veela bullshit?”

“You saw the memories Ron; I don’t know what to think,” Hermione replied, “I’m just confused.”

Harry and Ginny emerged from the vegetation. They appeared so flustered that Hermione was sure they had been making out.

“No gnomes in there?” Hermione queried.

Ginny giggled while Harry blushed bright red.

“You’re attracted to him,” Ron snapped.

It was Ginny who answered, “Ron that just means she’s not blind. Geez, even I can admit that he’d not bad to look at.”

Ron stared at his sister in horror, “I think I’m going to vomit.”

“Me, too,” Harry agreed.

“Whatever,” Ginny said dismissively, “Hold onto childhood rivalries for all I care; but don’t get in Hermione’s face if she is mature enough to get over them!”

“I still think the Veela thing is crap,” Ron insisted.

Ginny called her brother a nasty name before stomping into the house. Hermione followed to make sure she was not left out of any information loop.

“Mum, can we get Bill and Fleur over for dinner?” Ginny asked bluntly.

“I have already sent an owl,” Molly replied with a knowing smile, “As we don’t know any other part-Veelas.”

“Where is Draco?” Narcissa asked worriedly.

“He stomped off in a huff,” Ginny provided before Hermione could answer, “Hermione is going to cast a disillusionment charm and go after him.”

“Good,” Narcissa replied, “Make sure he tells you what happens after a year if you reject him.”


	9. Right to Know

Draco stared at the swamp without seeing it. Sometimes he wished that he could go back in time and change how he behaved toward Hermione, yet if he had done that she would be dead.

He wondered if the Veela which was going to overtake him had always been in the back of his mind, drawing him to the witch; it would explain quite a lot.

Draco had been jealous of her talent at first, even while he admired her smile and ability to make friends. He was sure that he had never really had a friend, only lackeys and acquaintances who thought they could benefit by the association.

Her intelligence had earned his respect and he had always found her fascinating; even when her know-it-all bookworm tendencies had annoyed the stuffing out of him.

The reaction of his father after the first year of Hogwarts had terrified him on a deep, instinctual level he had never experienced before. For the second time in his life he cared more for another person that his own happiness and safety. It seemed so obvious that the first woman to win his loyalty had brought him to the second when he needed her the most.

Draco feared that when Hermione learned that rejecting him would curse him to die a slow death on his nineteenth birthday she would accept him out of guilt rather than true affection. He had watched his mother suffer the burden of a loveless marriage for years and he would not trap Hermione in such a cage.

The thought that he had less than a day before the Veela emerged scared him as much as Voldemort had. Both had the power to reach into his mind and control his actions. He had to thank Potter for killing Snake-Eyes next time they were in the same room.

Draco heard her approach and had to search hard to find Hermione under the charm she had cast.

“Are the Wonder Twins giving you a hard time?” he asked snidely.

Hermione ended the charm, her annoyance cresting sharply.

“Why do you always do that?” she demanded.

“Do what?”

“Say something insulting without provocation?”

Draco returned his gaze to the swamp, “Years of training. If I’m always on the offensive, my opponent doesn’t have time to attack.”

Hermione moved closer to him in an attempt to see his face, “I’m not your opponent. Do you speak to friends like that too?”

Draco glanced at her and for a moment she saw the pain in his expression before his haughty expression covered it, “I don’t have friends; I don’t need them.”

Hermione knew he was lying and being able to recognise that reassured her. She walked forward to stand next to him. She tried to ignore the thudding of her heartbeat at his proximity.

“Draco, you are full of crap.”

He couldn’t extinguish the smile which her words triggered. He had always admired how honest she was with herself and others.

“Probably.”

Hermione moved so she was standing directly in front of him. She had to concentrate on his eyes so her gaze wouldn’t be drawn lower.

“When did you get this bloody tall?” she demanded irritably.

He smiled and for once it was genuine, “In the last two minutes.”

He really was beautiful when he smiled. He was also a stubborn git who slipped the disinterested mask on a moment later.

“Do you want me to hate you?”

Draco shook his head, “Of course not.”

“Then you’re going to have to stop being a jerk and actually speak to me so we can at least be friends!”

Draco groaned and stepped away from her so he wouldn’t touch what wasn’t his.

“That’s not natural for me anymore,” he complained.

“You can be an arrogant shit to Harry and Ron but when it’s just the two of us you have to at least try to be civil,” Hermione argued.

“Thank-you,” Draco said with a small smile, “Because Merlin himself could not describe how much those two annoy me.”

“And me?”

Draco wanted to touch her, hold her hand or just breathe in her smell. Instead he remained out of her reach and he had no idea how to bridge the gap between them.

“You’re not annoying,” he admitted, “Most of the time.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Thank-you for that huge compliment.”

“You’re welcome.”

Hermione had not forgotten the hints Narcissa had tried to drop earlier, “What happens after a year if I reject you?”

Draco froze, not wanting to acknowledge the question let alone answer it.

“Come on Draco, how am I supposed to accept this weird shift in reality if you don’t give me all the information?” Hermione huffed.

“I don’t want you to look accept me out of guilt,” Draco responded stiffly, “I need you to choose to be with me.”

Hermione crossed her hands across her chest, which nearly made Draco lose his train of thought completely.

“I need all the information,” Hermione insisted, “And if I have to whip up a batch of _Veritaserum_ to get it out of you then I will.”

Anger flashed onto his face before he could control his features, “Then get brewing.”

“And there you go again!” Hermione cried in frustration, “How are we supposed to be together if you can’t even talk to me?”

Draco stared at the ground, “I don’t want to tell you; please don’t make me.”

The honest plea in his words startled her; he was afraid.

“What are you afraid of?” she asked gently.

Draco shrugged, “Lots of things. I’m afraid I am destined to be a bastard like my father, or that I’ll trap you in a loveless marriage like my father did to my mother. He’s not a Veela so he doesn’t even have an excuse.”

“You are not like your father,” Hermione stated confidently.

“I’m afraid that after the Veela becomes active I won’t be me anymore,” he admitted, “I don’t want to be some instinct-driven monster trying to manipulate you.”

Hermione reached out to slip her hand around his elbow, but he still wouldn’t look at her.

“I don’t want that either,” she admitted easily, “Have you ever met another part-Veela to ask questions?”

“Not to ask questions; and she was a female anyway. It’s different for males.”

“Well Bill and his wife Fleur are coming over for dinner. Fleur is part-Veela and should be able to help with knowledge at least.”

Draco groaned at the prospect of another Weasley joining the party and dreaded what else could screw up his life.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“It’s called a Television,” Arthur Weasley said, studying the Muggle device sitting in the living room.

“What’s it for?” Ron asked curiously.

“Making people stupid,” Hermione offered.

“It’s a form of entertainment,” Harry clarified. He proceeded to explain the types of programs shown on the TV while Hermione listened silently. She was secretly amused by the way Harry struggled to convince his best friend that the large box was not a waste of space.

Draco sat next to Hermione feeling as uncomfortable as ever. Weasley and Potter had decided to pretend he was invisible, which was fine by him. Weaslette had smiled at him before winking at Hermione.

Draco was sure the youngest Weasley was trouble. Unfortunately, there was worse to come; the dinner guests were due any minute.

“I think it’s the ugliest paper-weight in the world,” Ginny decided after scrutinising the television.

Ron poked the screen with his wand, “How boring.”

Harry gave up trying to explain what it was in favour of a short description of the lack of power.

“One day I’m going to take you on a plane, Mr Weasley,” Hermione said with a grin, “Though I might have to put a silencing charm on you before we enter the airport.”

Draco liked hearing the silly conversations in the Weasley home; it was definitely a welcome change from the silence of his home, or the screams of torture victims.

“Are you going to help them turn it on?” Draco asked Hermione quietly.

She shook her head, “They’re enjoying the investigation too much for me to ruin it.”

Molly and Narcissa were in the kitchen with Linna preparing dinner. Molly was so delighted to have a house elf around that she had not stopped fussing over the creature all day. Linna was confused but pleased to be so appreciated.

“Bill and Fleur will arrive any minute!” Molly called to those assembled in the living room, “If you block the fireplace with that Muggle monstrosity I’ll blast it into pieces, and you can clean up the mess, Arthur!”

Arthur swiftly moved his newest artefact away from the fireplace so he and Ron could continue studying it. Ginny sat next to Hermione with Harry’s head in her lap.

“What did you do to your glasses this time?” Hermione asked him with exasperation.

“Um, scratched in the gnome-hunt,” Harry said.

Hermione plucked his glasses off his face and examined them closely.

“Since when is Weaslette called a ‘Gnome’?” Draco asked pointedly, “She was the only thing you were chasing out there.”

Harry blushed a distinctive shade of red. Hermione finished repairing his glasses and handed them back to him.

“He’s just jealous,” Ginny assured Harry, “He wants a warm female lap to cuddle up to and even if he had access, his back wouldn’t allow him to enjoy it.”

“How did you live this long Weaslette?” Draco asked, “Surely one or more of your brothers tried to take you to a Muggle orphanage as a child.”

Ginny smiled, “Fred and George tried, but mum caught them.”

“Really?” Harry asked with a smile.

“Yep, and she threatened to take them to the pound for lost dogs if they tried it again.”

The flash of green light and cloud of ash announced the arrival of two more family members. Draco barely glanced at the red-headed man other than noting the scar on his face. He studied the blonde female, knowing she could spill secrets he did not want shared.

“Bill! Fleur!” the mass of hugging and greetings left Draco staring and intimidated. Were all families so enthusiastic? Draco could remember short introductions and sneered observations when he had met any of his relatives who were worth acknowledging.

Molly bustled out of the kitchen to join the family while Narcissa stood back and observed. Draco stood up and edged his way over to stand next to his mother.

“Is this normal?” he asked quietly.

“In most families, yes,” she replied, “In ours, no.”

As the mob of people began to loosen the blonde woman in the huddle froze in place and stared at Draco with wide eyes. Her husband immediately knew something was going on and soon the rest of the group had stopped to observe Fleur carefully.

“Amazing,” Fleur said with awe. She stepped toward him carefully as though expecting him to run away or vanish from the room.

“Fleur, this is Narcissa and Draco Malfoy,” Molly introduced happily, “After a Death Eater attack on their home yesterday they are staying here until the school year resumes at least.”

“Malfoy?” Bill repeated gruffly. The scar on his face made him look dangerous. Draco was relieved to see that he did not look as dopey as his youngest brother.

“Hello Bill, Fleur,” Narcissa greeted regally, “Molly and Arthur have been wonderful to us, especially in this difficult time.”

Fleur stopped just out of Draco’s reach. He regarded her warily; if she tried to hug him he would flee or freeze in discomfort.

“You are close to turning,” Fleur said blatantly, her eyes flicking around his head as though she was reading his aura, “The Veela is strong in you.”

“Veela?” Bill echoed, “I thought they were all women.”

“Males are incredibly rare, and very dangerous,” Fleur replied, her eyes still fixed on Draco. He leaned away from her but did not step back.

“Even the Ministry of Magic won’t mess with Veela’s,” Arthur added.

“Females are not as violent as the males,” Fleur added as Bill slipped his hand into hers, “Males have been known to commit murder to stop another from touching their mate against her will. The instinct to protect and possess is strong.”

Draco was distinctly uncomfortable, and his gaze kept flicking to Hermione. She was watching Fleur carefully. He silently begged her to shelve her curiosity just once.

“Fleur, what happens a year after the Veela emerges, if the mate doesn’t accept him?” Hermione asked without looking at Draco.

“No,” Draco hissed at her. Fleur watched his fists clench along with his jaw.

“If the bond is not completed he will die a slow death on his nineteenth birthday,” Fleur said sadly.

Hermione drew in a shaky breath, “How is the bond completed?”

“Stop it, Hermione!” Draco growled at her.

“No!” she yelled back, “If you won’t tell me, I’m going to ask Fleur!”

Narcissa reached out to touch Draco’s shoulder, “She has the right to know.”

Draco shrugged off his mothers’ hand and glared at Hermione for a brief moment before stalking into the dining room and back outside.

“The bond requires the mate to accept her Veela into her bed and his bite on her neck willingly,” Fleur said softly.

Hermione sat down heavily.

“What the hell happened to his back?” Bill demanded.


	10. Awkward Conversations

Draco spotted the shed which had been mentioned earlier. It was dusty and poorly lit but, after some spells, he had made some significant improvements. The walls looked like flimsy tin from the outside, yet the inside showed solid brick.

Various trinkets collected over the years had been piled up in the corner, the grime cleaned away and a comfortable bed dominated the room.

Draco stared at the bed, considering his next move. He was unable to shake the image of the Veela awakening within him and charging off after Hermione. Even if he could not harm her, she would be scared.

Thick, metal chains snaked out of the floor, so the cuffs rested on the bed. He shortened the legs of the bed, so it sat close to the ground.

Finally satisfied with his efforts Draco stretched out on his stomach on the bed and let his thoughts run rampant. Even worse than the idea of scaring Hermione was the knowledge that Veela were emotionally unstable until the bond with their mate was completed. The uncaring mask he had hidden behind for years was soon going to be ripped away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ron was upstairs sulking like a child so Harry remained in the living room pretending he did not notice.

Bill and Fleur were in the kitchen chatting non-stop with Molly and Narcissa. Ginny hissed at Harry to make himself scarce while she tried to speak to Hermione about the latest revelations.

Harry headed outside, considering some time on one of the brooms when the pale figure of Draco Malfoy circling the shed caught his attention.

Harry wasn’t sure how to regard Malfoy anymore; hating him didn’t seem right once he had seen how far he had gone to protect Hermione. Yet, accepting him as a friend didn’t sit well either. He had seen Hermione hurt by his cruel words too many times to forget easily.

Harry slowly edged closer to the shed, knowing that letting issues fester wasn’t an option when the Veela was scheduled to emerge the following day. He was also driven by his curiosity.

Malfoy was stretched out on his front on a plain bed which sat low on the ground. Harry was surprised to see heavy manacles on either side of the mattress.

“Nice place you have here,” Harry said casually.

Malfoy opened one eye to assess his demeanour before closing it, “Thanks; I’m considering a career in interior decorating. This is the dungeon look.”

“Should be popular in Azkaban,” Harry suggested.

“What do you want Potter?” Malfoy asked, though there was no spite in his tone.

Harry wasn’t sure what he wanted, “Just checking what you were doing out here.”

“Where’s your faithful sidekick?”

“He’s still pissed at everyone,” Harry admitted, “Not the best company at the moment.”

Malfoy snorted, “He’s never good company.”

Harry considered just leaving rather than trying to defend Ron.

Malfoy rolled to his side and sat up, “Actually Potter, I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to say thank-you for killing Voldemort. That guy was a despicable bastard and I’m ashamed that my father ever wanted to follow him.”

Harry blinked at him in surprise and was rendered speechless for a few seconds, “Um, you’re welcome?”

“I regret everything I have ever said or done to hurt Hermione but you and Weasley still annoy the shit out of me,” Malfoy admitted.

Harry wondered how Malfoy managed to make half an apology into an insult. It was quite a talent.

“Did you apologize to Hermione?”

Malfoy glared at him, “I plan to grovel for months.”

Harry nodded, “Well, I mostly hated you for your treatment of her so if you remain civil I might be able to stand you.”

“There’s a shining endorsement.”

“I can’t vouch for Ron though,” Harry added, “I doubt he will ever accept your interest in Hermione.”

Malfoy rolled back onto his stomach on the bed, “Well, he can celebrate if I die next year.”

Harry was sure he would, but he was polite enough not to verbalise it.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione didn’t notice Ron stomp up to his room or Harry sneak out to get away from the commotion. She was faintly aware of Ginny sitting next to her worriedly.

Draco was attractive but the thought of lifelong commitment scared her. The burden of knowing that rejecting him meant death kept the shroud of concern fresh in her mind.

She was going to be nineteen in three months and while her peers had been experimenting sexually for years she remained a virgin. She had hoped that the relationship with Ron would work out but after that dissolved she was left wondering if there was something wrong with her.

The revelation that she was the mate of a Veela almost explained why most males were not interested in her romantically. Did she have some sort of mystical signal keeping them at bay?

“Hermione?” Ginny said softly, slipping an arm around her shoulders, “I’m worried about you. I know you’re not ‘okay’ so asking would be a stupid question but I’m here to talk if you need it.”

Hermione slowly looked over at the concerned young woman, “I don’t know what to do,” she admitted.

Ginny squeezed her reassuringly, “You don’t need to do anything. What happens tomorrow will happen even if we stress about it. Just try to deal with each minute as it comes.”

“I don’t like when stuff spirals out of control,” Hermione muttered.

Ginny smiled, “I know, but we can’t plan for everything.”

“I guess Draco was right,” Hermione admitted, “I do feel guilty that he could die because of me.”

“I know you Hermione and I’ve seen the way you’ve been watching Malfoy; are you sure it’s guilt?”

Hermione remained silent, lost when it came to analysing her own feelings. She could navigate the turbulent ocean of the emotions of others, but that ability deserted her when she turned it inwards.

“You can’t forget all the emotions and memories in a day,” Ginny continued, “And no-one expects you to. Give yourself some time to accept that you are seriously attracted to Malfoy without admitting anything to anyone.”

Hermione nodded, “I still don’t like it.”

“Are you scared of the commitment or the sex?” Ginny asked quietly.

Hermione prided herself on being a logical woman. Logic dictated that a lifelong bond to a former enemy was much more serious than an intimate act with the same enemy. She decided that logic could go screw itself.

“Both.”

Ginny glanced at the doorway to the kitchen, grabbed Hermione’s hand and led her upstairs to the bedroom they shared. Although there were spare bedrooms now Hermione could not sleep without another in the room. Harry and Ron were the same.

Ginny cast every spell she could think of to keep the door locked and their words private. Anyone knocking would be heard but not be able to hear a sound from within.

Hermione sat on her bed and Ginny perched on hers. The redhead was blushing, which ignited Hermione’s curiosity.

“Harry and I, we haven’t, not yet -” Ginny managed.

“Are you going to tell me gross details about a guy I consider to be a brother?” Hermione demanded quickly, “I don’t need more nightmares.”

That was the truth; like the rest of the household she was usually awakened by a scream. No-one slept soundly anymore.

“Not really,” Ginny replied, “But I wanted to tell you some stuff and how terrified I was, so you understand.”

Hermione stomped on the impulse to flee the room, “Okay, talk.”

“Kissing is easy,” Ginny said, “We do that all the time. After the final battle he was exhausted for days. We would just hold hands, cuddle and talk.”

Hermione nodded. After that day she had spent hours just staring at walls, waiting to be relieved. The relief just didn’t materialize.

“I’m a virgin,” Ginny added, “I’ve fooled around with a couple of guys in fifth year but nothing below the waist.”

That was depressing; Hermione was less experienced than Ginny had been in fifth year.

“One day Harry was back on his feet and we went for a walk just to be alone,” the younger witch continued, “We ended up snogging, which was great until he got a bit overeager.”

Hermione felt her stomach clench involuntarily.

“Did he? Oh, dear Merlin, what are you telling me?”

Ginny gulped, “I was surprised when he managed to get my bra undone,” she admitted, “I should have said something then. I just froze and he didn’t realize.”

“Ginny; what did he do?” her voice was low and almost threatening.

“His hand was in my knickers before I pulled away,” Ginny said softly, “He was horrified when he realized I wasn’t encouraging that and I forgave him, but it was just unsettling, you know?”

Hermione nodded. She had been unsettled since Draco had been brought into the Weasley house looking like mincemeat.

“He held me afterwards,” Ginny could feel her heart pounding and she gripped her pillow tightly, “And I could feel it pressed up against my leg. How the hell is that supposed to fit? That’s going to hurt so much!”

Hermione shifted so she was sitting next to Ginny on her bed. She hugged the younger girl automatically.

“When we were camping, the guys would wake up like that,” she confided, “They were so embarrassed. Ron admitted that he had done it with Lavender and once he said that we were able to talk more. It was horribly awkward at first but sharing fears and insecurities can build trust.”

Ginny nodded, “He’s been through so much, I don’t want to stress him out you know?”

Hermione felt herself smiling, “It’s a different kind of stress. The more you talk the more relaxed he will be, and you too.”

“I almost want to ask mum, but I know Harry would never be able to look her in the eye again,” Ginny giggled.

“I wish I could offer you advice as a big sister but I’m afraid I didn’t even get that far with Ron,” Hermione admitted.

Ginny gaped at her, “Did he get your bra off?”

Hermione snorted, “He didn’t even get my shirt off.”

Ginny burst into laughter and threw herself back against the bed, “I shouldn’t laugh but what a dope!”

Hermione was smiling at her antics, “I’m like a _sister_ to him remember.”

Ginny was wiping her eyes when she finally sat back up, “I’m sorry, but sometimes I wonder if Ron actually prefers guys. It would explain why he is so utterly hopeless around girls.”

“He managed well enough with Lavender,” Hermione said with a shrug.

“Clearly Lavender knew how to give short, simple instructions for him to follow,” Ginny replied, “The school year is going to be so weird; how many kids are going to be shipped to Europe instead of going to Hogwarts?”

“Well I know there will be a maximum of six Gryffindors in Eighth Year,” Hermione mused, “The three here, plus Neville, Dean and Seamus.”

“Ravenclaw lost two students,” Ginny agreed, “I guess the rest will be bunking with the Seventh Years; if they come back at all.”

“In a way I’m really looking forward to going back; burying myself in homework until I don’t have to stress about anything else,” Hermione said with a sad smile, “And then I think of Lavender and Parvati and I realize that I can never escape what has happened, even at Hogwarts.”

Ginny froze in place, staring across the room. Hermione tried to follow her gaze but couldn’t see what she was looking at.

“There are going to be more ghosts,” Ginny said worriedly, “I hope Fred isn’t there.”

Hermione stroked her hair, “I’ll be there for you, I promise. You’ll always have someone there to help you cope.”

“I hope he moved on to wherever,” Ginny murmured.

“Maybe Lavender is a ghost,” Hermione offered, “She can give Ron tips on how not to be a dork.”

“Let’s hope he gets that advice from a ghost,” Ginny agreed, “It would kill anyone living.”


	11. Dinner at the Burrow

Draco had transfigured a scrap of clothing into a shirt; he was not going to show up to dinner half-naked. He made sure the sleeves were long enough to cover the hated mark on his arm. Getting the shirt over his head had proved very painful but his stubbornness won out.

Narcissa waved him over to sit next to her. Ginny didn’t hesitate to throw herself into the chair on his left. Hermione sat on the other side of Ginny.

Molly and Arthur were serving the food, while Linna trotted around happily. Draco knew that the House Elf had dreamed of a big family to look after all of her life.

Bill and Fleur were across the table and Draco nodded politely to them before avoiding the gaze of the blonde. He shuddered to think of what other Veela traits could come spewing out of her mouth to scare the daylights out of Hermione.

“An owl arrived from Hogwarts earlier,” Arthur said as he placed a plate of chicken into the centre of the table, “Eighth-Year students are required to register their attendance by June 30th. Classes will start in mid-July so you can settle in before all the other students show up.”

Hogwarts. Draco dreaded having to go back and face the students who saw him as nothing but a Death Eater. He turned to his mother to ask if she had contacted her sister when the voice of his mate sent a thrill through him.

“Draco! What the hell have you done?!” Hermione demanded loudly.

“That’s a long list,” Ron muttered from down the table.

Draco ignored the irritating prat and turned slowly to face Hermione. She was pushing back her seat and glaring at his back.

“Why are you wearing a shirt? That wound is barely scabbed over!” She stomped closer as she reprimanded him.

“There was no way I was attending dinner half-naked,” Draco snapped.

“You stubborn idiot!” Hermione declared, “I can see half the letters in blood soaking through the fabric!”

“Its fine,” Draco insisted, remaining motionless while she examined the wound. He wanted to lean into her so badly, just to smell her hair.

“I’m going to have to use magic and apply the potion again.”

Ginny leaned back in her chair to look at the damage. “It says ‘Loo Rat’,” she said.

Harry and Ron couldn’t hold in their sniggers. Draco rolled his eyes at their antics while suppressing the surge of irritation they inspired.

“I would rather that than sit here without a shirt,” Draco said stiffly.

“Even if some of the scabs are ripped off later?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“I can handle pain, surely I’ve proved that by now?” he replied coldly.

Hermione huffed at his stupidity and sat back down. Bill and Fleur shared an uncomfortable glance while the rest of the family let the silence continue.

“What is it supposed to say?” Bill asked curiously.

“’Blood Traitor’,” Draco replied shortly.

Bill rolled his eyes, “How unoriginal.”

“The true believers were always lacking brain cells,” Draco agreed, “I’m surprised they knew which end of the knife to use.”

“Well I’m grateful you are fully dressed,” Ron said from next to Fleur, “You know, to keep the food down.”

Molly sent a spell which hit Ron in the side of the head. She didn’t even acknowledge his yelp of pain.

“See?” Narcissa said to Draco, “Manners are important at the table.”

“I’m glad you came here, Narcissa,” Arthur said as he sat down, “We Blood Traitors have to stick together.”

“I can dye your hair ginger if you want?” Ginny teased.

Draco rolled his eyes, “There are plenty here already. I’ll stick to blonde.”

“I’ll pass too,” Narcissa mused, “I like wearing red.”

Fleur was watching him thoughtfully. Draco wanted to hide under Potter’s invisibility cloak.

“Narcissa, was Draco rather moody growing up?” Fleur asked.

Draco stared at his plate while he ate.

“Definitely; we went through two or three Governess’ per year. Some decided he was a demon disguised as a child.”

“Still is,” Ron muttered.

Fleur nodded, “I was a complete little cow as a child, yet my sister Gabrielle was not. The gene is active in me but not her. My parents explained that the Veela gene keeps children on edge and isolated from their peers. I had so much trouble making friends and I had no patience at all.”

Draco listened to her words with interest while pretending to ignore her.

“That’s not an excuse for me acting like an evil git,” Draco muttered.

“But it does explain why you were worse than the regular bullies,” Harry offered, “Between the Veela thing and Lucius I doubt you were ever going to be tolerable.”

“There’s a goal for you Draco,” Ginny laughed, “Aim for tolerable and we’ll call it progress.”

“Thanks, Weaslette,” he replied dryly.

“Since when do you call him ‘Draco’?” Harry muttered to his girlfriend.

Fleur was watching Hermione closely. Draco didn’t like the speculation he could see brewing in her face.

For a brief time, the conversation died out to be replaced by the clinking of cutlery. Draco did not allow himself to relax just because there were not words being exchanged; there were far too many sets of eyes studying him.

One by one the meals were finished and Linna happily collected the plates for cleaning. Molly continued to thank the House Elf while Narcissa watched her son. Clearly he was as stubborn as his father.

Ron and Harry thanked Molly and Linna for the meal before heading into the living room for a game of Wizard’s Chess. Draco tried to think of an excuse which would allow him to leave the table too.

“So, Draco,” Fleur began with a small smile, “Have you been experiencing any of the advanced symptoms of the transformation?”

“Like what?” he asked shortly.

Bill was watching Hermione, who had suddenly blushed dark red.

“Well it will depend if you are near your mate,” Fleur said, “The urge to be near her, insane jealousy of other males who may be closer to her.”

Draco could feel the blush on his own face and knew she was taunting him.

“In general insomnia in the months before the turning is pretty common, and after your birthday is will get a lot worse,” Fleur continued, “Expect bursts of anger around authority figures too. Veela may have interbred with Wizards but the distrust is still there.”

“Veela were persecuted during the time known as the Dark Ages,” Arthur added, “They are now considered an endangered species, hence why they are exempt from most Wizarding laws.”

“So Veela on a rampage can’t be punished?” Ginny asked with clear disapproval, “That’s not fair.”

“Veela are only violent when their mate is threatened,” Fleur explained, “Even their own safely is less important than protecting their mate. Only an idiot would purposely piss off a Veela.”

“So, do you know who your mate is Draco?” Bill asked mischievously.

“Excuse me,” Draco said politely, “Somehow I don’t think I’m needed for this conversation.”

Hermione remained in place as Draco carefully manoeuvred around the edge of the room to leave through the back door. She resisted the impulse to stare after him as he disappeared out of her sight.

“You’re such a shit-stirrer,” Ginny said to Bill, “Was there a point to that?”

Bill grinned, “Not really. I know it would be stupid to tease him this time tomorrow, so I had to be quick about it.”

“I will ask my mother to consult her library about male Veelas,” Fleur offered, “It’s been centuries since one was recorded but if anyone has the information she will.”

“So, Hermione,” Bill began, “I’m glad you and Ron are still friends. You’ll have to find him a nice girl to keep him interested. Or a boy if that’s his choice.”

“It’s sad that your relationship with Ron didn’t work out,” Fleur said gently, “Though considering the circumstances -”

“Excuse me,” Hermione squeaked, “I have to go.”

She was on her feet and fleeing the room before Fleur could finish what she was saying.

“So, she does know,” Bill mused, “It was pretty obvious from here, but I wasn’t sure.”

“Of course, she knows,” Ginny snapped, “She’s seriously intelligent and Narcissa made sure she knew what was going on last night.”

Throughout the conversation Narcissa sipped her tea silently, not sure about the newcomers. She had pushed Draco to reveal quite a lot to Hermione when he would have kept information to himself. She knew her son well enough to know when he was reaching his limits and that point was quite close.

“I am curious about your decision to bring Draco here,” Bill said to Narcissa, “I daresay our families have never really gotten along.”

Narcissa offered him a polite smile, “The Malfoy family rarely gets along with _anyone_ ,” she said sweetly.

Fleur smiled down at her hands. Bill and Arthur shared a slightly confused glance.

“Draco has been rather obsessed with Miss Granger since he was eleven years old,” Narcissa continued, “It was rather obvious where he needed to be.”

Fleur was clearly interested, “How did you know it was the Veela rather than a simply crush?”

Molly caught Narcissa’s attention and offered the slightest nod of encouragement. She may have married into the Weasley family, but she was familiar with the politics of Pureblood witches and knew how communicate silently.

Narcissa spoke to Fleur directly, though she monitored Bill’s reaction too.

“When Draco argued for Miss Granger’s life face-to-face with Voldemort I was suspicious,” she said calmly, “When he demanded that she be allowed to live as his wife when Voldemort ruled the world I was sure he was a Veela. When he took the Dark Mark without hesitation to ensure her safety I knew she had to be his mate.”

Bill had paled at her words. Fleur appeared rather embarrassed.

“I didn’t get a good look at the mark earlier,” Bill managed, “Is it fading?”

“Yes,” Narcissa replied, “It is mostly grey, and patches had disappeared completely. It will eventually be one large scar which magic cannot remove. Draco hates the reminder but to me it is proof that my son sacrificed far too much to keep those he loves alive and safe. I regret that I was unable to protect him.”

“I fear for the young ones who were pulled into the war by Voldemort,” Bill sighed, “They are going to be easy targets for other grieving kids. I wonder how many will be brave enough to return?”

Molly began handing out cups of tea, “About that Bill, I plan to recommend you for the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. There is a rumour that the position was cursed by Voldemort years ago. A proven Curse-Breaker should have a natural advantage.”

Bill was clearly interested in the idea and Fleur encouraged him to apply. She confided that they were planning to start a family soon and living with him at Hogwarts would fit with their plans.

An owl landed on the perch just outside the window and tapped impatiently. Arthur recognised the seal of the letter it carried. He reached for the treats kept on the nearest bench to give to the tired creature.

“Thank-you,” he said politely, “Would you like to rest for a while?”

The owl bobbed its head and shuffled along his arm. Once fully inside it jumped down onto the table. Ginny was quickly stroking its feathers and speaking to it quietly.

“Oh dear,” Arthur said to himself.

The rest of the table waited expectantly. Narcissa wondered if she and Draco had been granted closed trials as Mr Potter had requested.

“Narcissa,” Arthur said as he sat down, “I have some bad news.”

She placed her tea on the table and waited, her features impassive.

“The Ministry decided to place someone at the Manor to guard Lucius against further visits from Death Eaters,” Arthur said hesitantly, “The Auror on duty was found unconscious an hour ago. Lucius is missing.”


	12. Sharing

Hermione wasn’t sure how she had been elected as the person to tell Draco that his father was missing. Apparently being his mate was supposed to protect her from his temper. She had pointed out that she wasn’t his anything until the Veela emerged the following day, yet the rest of the family had not been swayed.

She carried the healing potion too, aiming to knock out two birds with one stone. The pair of scissors had been an afterthought; that shirt was going to be a problem.

Hermione knocked on the door to the shed and heard a bored voice invite her in.

Draco was lying on his stomach reading a book by the light of his wand.

“Hi,” Hermione said quietly.

Draco dropped the book onto the mattress and rolled onto his side to see her without hurting his neck. His eyes scanned her from her feet upwards.

“Hello again,” he greeted casually, “Are you here to cause me pain?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, “Probably, considering the state of your back.”

Draco rolled back onto his stomach but left the book where it was, “I trust you. I’ll try not to complain too much.”

“You, complain?” she scoffed sarcastically, “Never.”

Draco admired the way she walked forward to perch on the mattress without hesitation. He could imagine her facing Death Eaters with the boldness and recklessness which defined a Gryffindor.

“I’m going to cut away the material from the wound,” she said flatly, “If you insist on wearing a shirt it has to be this one. You’re such a moron.”

“Thank-you,” Draco replied graciously, “Considering all the adjectives I have earned in the past, ‘moron’ is almost a compliment.”

Hermione shook her head and didn’t fight the small smile. She made quick work of the shirt, cutting a large square around the wounds and using her wand to stitch around the edge to stop fraying.

“I have to peel the cut part away,” she explained, “This is going to hurt like hell.”

“Perhaps something to numb the pain?” Draco suggested.

“That would interfere with the potion I have to apply,” she disagreed, “Plus, you deserve to suffer for being so foolish.”

Draco began to reply but the sensation of flesh being ripped out of his back halted his words. He grabbed onto the edges of the mattress and growled into the fabric under his face.

“Sorry,” Hermione said sincerely. She continued to gently peel away the piece of shirt and noted the dried blood stains on it. As chunks of partially-healed epidermis were torn away, the wounds began spouting fresh blood. It trickled rather than gushed so she continued.

Draco was panting in his struggle not to scream. The memories of the previous evening hounded him, bringing the fury and helplessness back.

Hermione heard him cursing Death Eaters with language which would have earned a sharp slap from Molly Weasley. The last of the shirt was finally free so she folded it over and left it on the ground. She worked quickly to encourage the deepest tissue to grow at an accelerated rate. Once the spell was complete she applied the potion with firm movements.

“I am also the bearer of bad news,” Hermione said as she finished, re-corked the bottle and used her wand to clean her hands. She would wash them in water once she was back inside too; the Muggle way of cleaning was somehow reassuring.

“Sure,” Draco replied, “Because I’ve had such a great couple of days; let’s add another problem.”

Hermione shifted so she was sitting in the bed and facing away from him. She ran her fingers over her knees as the ache from kneeling slowly faded.

“The Ministry assigned an Auror to stay with your father,” Hermione said, “He was found unconscious and your father is missing.”

Draco kept his forehead on the mattress as her words sunk in.

“Was there any sign of a struggle?” he asked, his voice slightly muffled.

“I don’t know; the message didn’t say.”

“Either he was kidnapped or ran away,” Draco said with a sign, “Knowing my luck he’s out trying to convince a Pureblood woman to carry his baby.”

“What?”

Draco slowly shifted onto his side, “Mother is over the Pureblood crap, but he is still obsessed.”

“So, marrying a Mudblood would ruin his life and all future plans?” Hermione asked, trying to sound casual.

“Don’t call yourself that,” Draco muttered.

“You did.”

“And I’m sorry for every mean thing I ever said, did or implied,” he said, sounding very tired, “I was parroting crap he wanted me to believe and trying to avoid being tortured. Even though he is my Father, I hate him.”

“So, he wants to disown you?”

Draco nodded, “He had some crazy ideas about me keeping you as a mistress and marrying a Pureblood woman of his choice. I told him exactly where to shove that.”

Hermione smiled and tilted her head to see him looking at her hand. She wondered what was so fascinating about her short, unpolished nails.

“The he wanted to artificially impregnate a ‘suitable’ candidate with my sperm, the obsessed bastard. I told him there was no way that was happening either; I’m not some stud horse.”

“So, his final solution is to cut you out and find a new heir?” Hermione scoffed, “What an idiot.”

“Stupid Pureblood bigotry,” Draco muttered, “I tried to explain about inbreeding, a small gene pool and the recessive diseases but as soon as I cited a Muggle example he declared I didn’t know what he was talking about. I wish Mother could divorce him.”

“You were reading about inbreeding Muggles?” Hermione asked curiously.

“The Royal families of Europe,” Draco agreed, “They didn’t have the research to understand but it is available now; I can’t believe so many idiots cling to old ideas. At least the Muggles were marrying close cousins for money rather than ridiculous ideas about blood.”

“Voldemort wasn’t even original,” Hermione agreed, “He was copying a lot of his notions from Hitler. I hope they are suffering somewhere together.”

“Idiots annoy me,” Draco muttered.

“Try to avoid First-Years when we’re back at Hogwarts,” Hermione advised with a smile.

“Silly kids are tolerable,” he clarified, “They are still learning. No, I mean the ones who have the knowledge laid out in front of them and still close their eyes and stick their fingers in their ears to remain as ignorant as possible.”

Hermione nodded, understanding his frustration.

“The Slytherin Common Room will be rather interested once, you know -”

“I pursue you like a devoted puppy?” Draco offered.

“You’ve had years to get used to the idea,” Hermione complained, “This time yesterday Ron and I had just broken up.”

Draco considered the behaviour of her ex-boyfriend in a new light, “He seems pretty calm,” he mused, “When I split with Pansy she hexed me ten times, and then went after the girl I fancied a few months later. Weasley has handled it pretty well, really.”

Hermione gathered her courage, which was easier since she had her back to him.

“So, you and Pansy went out for a while?”

Draco knew he was on dangerous ground.

“For most of fifth year,” he admitted.

“Did you sleep with her?”

Draco groaned, “Do I have to confess?”

“Either you tell me know or I’ll be very unhappy. How will that affect you tomorrow?”

“Yes, I had sex with her,” Draco admitted.

“Have you had many sexual partners?”

“Can’t you just rip up my back some more?” he pleaded.

“How many?”

“Four.”

“Four?” Hermione repeated, “Who, other than Parkinson?”

“Does it matter?”

Hermione didn’t like the jealousy which was brewing in her stomach. It shouldn’t matter, yet it did.

“I’m wondering about your taste in women,” Hermione admitted.

“It was crap,” he admitted.

“Names, or I go back to calling you Malfoy.”

Draco sighed, “Daphne Greengrass and two Slytherins who were in the year above.”

Suspicion crept into Hermione’s mind as she processed his confession, “And how many took place after you found out you were going to be a Veela?”

“I was a horny bastard okay?” Draco admitted, “I knew I wanted you in Sixth Year, but I couldn’t have you. Daphne knew from day one that we were not going anywhere.”

“And the two older ones?”

“One before Pansy and one after but before Daphne.”

“So, during Seventh Year you and Daphne were a couple?” Hermione hated the idea of having to go back to school and face women who had slept with Draco.

“Yes.”

“I’m not looking forward to seeing their reactions when we get back to school,” Hermione admitted.

“Pansy lost interest ages ago and Daphne was using me as much as I was using her,” Draco said, “Hopefully, they won’t give a shit.”

“Good, I don’t want them on my case during my NEWTS.”

Draco admired her dedication to her studies and looked forward to trying to distract her over the coming year.

“Your turn,” he invited.

“For what?” Hermione wondered.

“To confess your full sexual history.”

Hermione started laughing, which worried Draco. She had always seemed so innocent, but she had spent months living rough with Wesley and Potter.

“My history?” Hermione giggled, “Ron was my only boyfriend and he never even tried to cop a feel. That’s it.”

Draco sat up carefully and shifted closer to her, “Really?”

Hermione realized he was so close she could see his eyelashes, “Does that surprise you?”

Draco reached out to touch a lock of her hair, “Everyone thought you were beautiful,” he admitted, “Even the ones who called you names confessed that they wanted to bed you.”

“That’s creepy,” Hermione muttered.

“Sadly, the minds of teenage males are rather predictable,” Draco admitted.

“You’re still a teenage male,” she replied, “Is your mind predictable?”

“I’m afraid so,” he agreed, “I wish I could kiss you right now.”

The grey eyes which watched her no longer held the hatred she had seen for years. They definitely wanted something, and she knew it was far too early to consider what he was asking.

“Draco, you said you’re afraid the Veela will change who you are,” she whispered, “I’m afraid because I don’t know who you are now, let alone after tomorrow.”

Draco withdrew his hand, knowing she was right.

“Are Gryffindors always this blunt?” he asked curiously.

Confusion crossed her features, “I guess so. Is it different for the other houses?”

He tilted his head, which left his hair hanging at a strange angle, “Gryffindors just spew out the truth no matter what damage it does. Ravenclaws only do that after carefully making the decision, Hufflepuffs try to spare the feelings of others and Slytherins only speak the truth when the benefit is clear.”

“And you’re proud of being so manipulative?”

Draco dropped his eyes to admire her lips, “It has kept me, my mother and you alive. It has certainly been a useful skill.”

“Thank-you,” Hermione said honestly, “For sacrificing so much to keep me safe.”

Draco traced a finger along the side of her face and down to her chin.

“I wish I could spare you the responsibilities of the following year,” Draco said quietly, “I didn’t want you to know that rejecting me would lead to my death. I fear that after tomorrow I won’t care that you are going to accept me out of guilt rather than affection.”

Hermione watched him sink back onto the mattress on his side. The sadness in his face made her chest ache.

“I’ll make you a deal,” she offered quietly, “Before the bond is completed I will take some Veritaserum and you can ask me whatever you want.”

“Thank-you,” Draco sighed, “Yet, I fear that by that time I will ask the wrong questions.”

“Why are you such a pessimist?” Hermione demanded, “Maybe the Veela will emerge, be completely charming and we’ll fall in love?”

“I can be charming,” Draco complained.

Hermione smiled, “Really? I’ve seen sulky, annoyed and unconscious. I’d like to see ‘charming’ soon.”

“Challenge accepted.”


	13. Around the Table

Hermione left Draco to sleep, knowing he needed as much time to heal as possible. She returned to the family who were all waiting for an explosion of yelling from Draco.

“How did he react?” Narcissa asked worriedly.

“Um, he had some funny ideas of what Lucius could be doing,” Hermione admitted, “But he doesn’t seem to be stressed by the news.”

Narcissa nodded, “Draco has never been close to his father.”

The sight of Ron, Arthur, Bill and Fleur sitting around watching the television kept the atmosphere jovial. Hermione sat next to Harry so she could have a good view of room.

“Wizards have missed out,” Arthur decided, “Having magic has blinded the whole population to the wonders of technology.”

Bill lost interest in the toothpaste commercial, stretched and then wandered toward the kitchen. He caught Hermione’s eyes and tilted his head to indicate she should join him.

Hermione considered pretending not to have noticed the obvious signal.

“Go on,” Harry whispered.

Hermione gave up the pretence and hoisted herself onto her feet. After the conversation with Draco she was considering an early night.

“Would you like some tea?” Bill offered.

“Sure,” Hermione replied, “As long as you make this quick; I’m stuffed.”

“Alright,” Bill made two cups of tea while Hermione wondered what he had to say. She supposed everyone would have an opinion about what was going on.

When her steaming mug of tea was in her hands she braced herself for whatever was going to be said.

“I know this seems really confusing right now,” Bill said quietly, “I do understand how confronting it can be to have someone declare themselves a Veela and you their life-long mate.”

Hermione nodded, wondering how much of her situation was going to mirror what he had experienced.

“I don’t know him,” Hermione said sadly, “I thought I did but it was all wrong and now I’m overwhelmed by who he appears to be.”

Bill reached across the table and covered her small hand in his large one, “You have time to get to know him. The Veela has always been there, making him temperamental and argumentative. There will be some physical changes; the Veela are designed to draw in the opposite sex. Women will be drawn to him, but he will have eyes only for you.”

“That is stupid,” Hermione decided.

Bill smiled, “In a way, yes. Over the centuries creatures who are too intelligent have been hunted out of fear. The Veela adapted through flirting as well as fighting.”

“He is worried that he won’t be himself anymore; is that a real possibility?”

Bill shook his head, “He will still have the same memories, the same arrogant personality and the same annoying habits. He will simply be more confident in what he really wants.”

“He is also worried that by the end he won’t care if I am only accepting him out of guilt,” Hermione added.

“He will be able to feel your guilt,” Bill replied, “He will do anything possible to make you happy. If you are not in love within a year, he will spend his life working to be a male worthy of your love.”

“That sounds so unfair to him,” Hermione sighed.

“When you are happy, he is happy. That’s all he wants. If you wanted to be free of him he would let you go and embrace death.”

“I need more time,” Hermione confessed, “It’s only been a day, I can’t -”

“I know and that’s okay. I’m sure he doesn’t expect you to accept all this without plenty of time to process,” Bill assured her, “The important thing is you give each other a chance.”

Hermione nodded, knowing time and patience were going to be necessary to drive away the confusion in her mind.

“You should also know that the Veela may arouse your interest physically, but it has no effect on your emotions,” Bill added gently, “If you begin to miss him or generally develop affection for him remember that they are completely yours. You can trust them.”

Hermione was gently biting her lip, grateful that he had clarified that. She had worried that her choices would be overridden even if Draco didn’t intend to manipulate her.

“Being the mate of a Veela is a big responsibility, but the rewards are equally powerful,” Bill said with a smile, “Just be yourself and let it happen.”

Hermione stared down at her tea and admitted to herself that she was too much of a control-freak to just ‘let things happen’ without quite a lot of stress.

“Ron is probably going to be a dick about it too,” Bill mused, “If he goes too far tell him he has to deal with me, alright?”

Hermione nodded and hoped that he ended up working at Hogwarts.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco woke up to the noise of an obnoxious bird shrieking just outside the shed. He groaned into the mattress and cursed the Veela which was going to emerge in a few hours.

He knew his body was recovering, the evidence was obvious in his morning erection. He silently cursed his predicament and tried not to think of Hermione.

Draco thought about his father and hoped he was on the run from the last devoted Death Eaters who didn’t want to accept they had been defeated. He hoped that Lucius had finally grown a spine to stand up to them but suspected he had reverted to a simpering fool. The reign of Voldemort had extinguished any respect or affection he had for his father.

By the time his traitorous body stopped being annoying Draco was hungry. He cast a few cleaning charms on his clothes and prepared to face the awful day stretching before him.

The sun was shining, and a strong wind made his shirt flap around his torso. He wished he was feeling healthy enough to jump on a broomstick for a few hours.

No matter what complaints he had about his predicament, he was glad to be staying at the Burrow for two reasons; Hermione was close, and Mrs Weasley was a really good cook.

Linna greeted him happily when he entered the kitchen. Mrs Weasley, Narcissa and a woman he did not recognise sat around the table drinking tea.

“Draco!” Narcissa stood up to give him a one-armed hug, “This is my sister Andromeda; Andromeda, this is my son Draco.”

Andromeda stood up politely to greet him. He offered his hand to shake hers.

“Please call me Dromeda,” his aunt insisted as she shook his hand.

“Bacon, eggs, toast and orange juice for Draco, please, Linna,” Narcissa requested, “He will need his energy today.”

Draco wished he could go a full ten minutes without being reminded of the Veela transformation hanging over his head.

“How are you coping with the impending emergence of the Veela?” Dromeda asked kindly.

Draco shrugged, “I really don’t know,” he admitted, “If I end up insane from the searing pain I assume Mr Potter and Mr Weasley will volunteer to put me out of my misery.”

Dromeda smiled into her beverage, “After months with Voldemort in your face I doubt a little pain will end you Draco,” she mused, “You’re tougher than you think.”

“Thank-you for your confidence in my abilities,” Draco said graciously, “I hope that my mate agrees with you.”

Narcissa shared a smile with her sister, “I was just telling Dromeda about young Miss Granger,” she said with that annoying smile, “After years of believing the role you were playing, I think she is adjusting rather well.”

An angry yell from a male voice upstairs redirected attention quickly. Doors were slammed and new voices echoed down to the kitchen.

“What in Merlin’s name are those children up to?” Molly wondered aloud as she stood up.

Draco listened intently to the original male voice yell again, only to be answered by an equally irate female voice. The thudding of multiple pairs of feet on the stairs promised an entertaining morning.

“Get back here!” Weasley yelled.

Potter burst into the kitchen, wearing only boxer shorts. His eyes were wide, and his hair looked like a birds’ nest.

“You’ve scarred me for life Potter,” Draco complained, “Put some bloody clothes on.”

“Sorry!” Potter offered. He glanced back into the living room worriedly before glancing around at the witches seated at the table.

“Good morning, everyone! Talk later!”

Potter raced out the door into the sunlight. A few seconds later Weasley barged into the kitchen.

“Where is he?” Weasley demanded wildly. His hair stood up on one side, so he looked like a crazed rooster. Draco was grateful that he was fully covered, even if he looked rather ridiculous in blue and white striped pyjamas.

Ginny exploded into the room and threw herself onto her brother’s back, “Stop it Ronald! I swear I’ll hex you into next week if you hurt him!”

“Did you and Potter have a domestic?” Draco teased, “Is Weaslette the referee?”

“He was in bed with Ginny!” Ron screeched, “Half-naked and in bed with my sister!”

“I’m nearly of age you Neanderthal!” Ginny screamed into his ear.

“Ginny, get off your brother,” Molly commanded. Ginny reluctantly complied.

“Potter went that way,” Draco offered as he pointed, “Want help hexing him?”

Ron threw open the door and raced after his friend.

Ginny threw her slipped at Draco. He caught it mid-air and then winced at the pain.

“Serves you right,” Hermione said pointedly, “I told you not to rile them up.”

“They’re already riled up!” Draco argued, “I was simply offering to help.”

Ginny stomped over to retrieve her slipper, “If you weren’t wounded I’d hit you with it!” she declared.

“If you were my sister I’d be chasing Potter too,” Draco replied flatly, “Are you going to have some breakfast?”

“No!” Ginny snapped, “I’m going to get my wand, find my brother and hex off his -”

“Ginny!” Hermione cried, “I’ll be hexing you if I wake up to see you and Harry like that again! Dear Merlin, there are plenty of rooms; why couldn’t you find one I wasn’t in?”

Ginny finally looked slightly ashamed, “Sorry Hermione. I’ll move to Charlie’s old room -”

“You will not!” Molly contradicted, “You and Harry are not going to be alone in ANY bedroom in this house.”

“But mum!”

“Ginny, you are still sixteen! Until you are of age and he presents you with a ring and a promise of marriage you will be keeping all of your clothes on around Harry!” Molly thundered.

Ginny stomped her foot in anger before running back into the living room.

Draco and Hermione shared a glance before looking down at the table. Linna presented the witch with cereal and some toast.

The phrase ‘promise of marriage’ echoed around his head. Would Hermione be expecting a proposal in a few months? He’d gladly offer her one if she dropped the slightest hint. Though if she thought it was a bribe or something equally insulting he would end up with her wand pointed at his face.

“It is a shame I wasn’t able to raise more children,” Narcissa mused, “I’d love to see you chasing after a boy to defend your sister’s honour Draco.”

“I wasn’t enough trouble on my own?” he asked with a smile.

“I’m sure with company you could have kept out of trouble.”

“Or had a partner in crime,” Hermione offered.

“I think I’m better off without a sister; they seem to boss their brothers around too much,” Draco mused.

“Someone has to keep the boys in line at school,” Hermione replied.

Draco lost track of the conversation while Hermione smiled at him.

“After five miscarriages I gave up,” Narcissa sighed.

Andromeda reached out to squeeze her shoulder, “Sadly many Pureblood women miscarry more often than not. I had hoped that marrying a muggle-born would help but before I had Nymphadora I miscarried three times.”

The three older women continued their sad conversation while Draco tried not to stare at Hermione as she ate. He could see the blush rise along her cheeks and surely it was not normal to stare at the pieces of cereal as though scared to look away.

Potter wrenched the door open and raced through the house with Weasley only a few steps behind.

“Put some clothes on!” Draco yelled after them.


	14. Whirlwind

The shrill cry of a baby broke through the usual noises of the Burrow.

“You woke him up, Draco,” Dromeda said casually, “You can bring him in here.”

“Me?” Draco glanced around worriedly, “I’ve never held a baby before. What if I hurt it?”

“Teddy is a ‘he’, not an ‘it’,” Dromeda clarified, “Support his head and you’ll be fine.”

Narcissa smiled at him, “Get going,” she encouraged, “Dromeda always had a fast wand if you didn’t obey instructions.”

Draco knew better than to ignore his mother. He pushed himself to his feet and followed the sounds of an annoyed baby screaming for attention. A banshee made less noise.

A small pair of brown eyes peered up at him. Draco reached toward the baby, only to freeze when the eyes changed to a pale grey. For a moment he wondered what was wrong with the child until he remembered that Dromeda’s daughter had weird hair so there was probably an explanation.

The small patch of brown hair on Teddy’s head caught his attention. A strand developed a spot of pale blonde which slip along to the tip. Within seconds the baby was looking up at him with a head of pale blonde hair.

A Metamorphmagus. At least he wasn’t turning into a werewolf like his father.

“Do you want some help?” Hermione asked from behind him.

Draco didn’t bother turning around, “Please. Babies are weird.”

With a giggle she reached in to lift Teddy into her arms. Draco noted that she kept one hand under his head.

“Hold your arms like this,” Hermione instructed. Draco obeyed hesitantly.

As she shifted the surprisingly heavy bundle into his arms and repositioned his hands.

“Relax Draco,” she said with a smile, “He won’t explode.”

“They do, you know,” Draco argued, “All sorts of gross stuff comes out of both ends.”

Hermione giggled at his ridiculous statement and turned him toward the kitchen.

Teddy stared up at him with his own eyes and hair colour, which was seriously creepy.

“Has Potter held him yet?” Draco asked curiously.

“Yes, he’s the Godfather.”

“Does he end up with a scar on his forehead too?”

Hermione nodded.

“Poor little guy,” Draco mused, “No taste at all.”

He kept his pace very slow as though a slight jostle would kill the strange little person he was holding.

“What took you so long?” Dromeda asked with a smile, “Were you waiting for him to walk on his own?”

Draco held the baby out to his aunt and sighed in relief when she relieved him of the burden.

“Teddy isn’t Voldemort,” Narcissa laughed, “No need to be scared of him.”

Dromeda noticed the appearance of her grandson and laughed. She angled her arms so her sister could see too.

“A little Draco,” Narcissa sighed, “You were that cute once.”

“Was I that loud?” Draco wondered.

“Worse,” Narcissa replied, “The House Elves needed ear plugs.”

Molly smiled at Teddy before moving to the doorway to the living room and yelling for Harry, Ron and Ginny.

“This should be entertaining,” Hermione muttered.

“You don’t need to yell at us mum,” Ginny complained, “We didn’t DO anything.”

Hermione cringed, and a moment later Draco understood why.

“GINERVA WEASLEY, I DON’T CARE IF YOU ‘DIDN’T DO ANYTHING’! YOU HAD A BOY IN YOUR ROOM WITH THE DOOR SHUT! I RAISED YOU BETTER THAN THAT!”

Suddenly Draco understood why Molly Weasley had been able to take on Bellatrix Lestrange and kill her when so many others had failed.

“Harry,” Molly redirected, her voice not as threatening, “I love you as a son, but I cannot tolerate my daughter engaging in sexual activities with anyone while she still lives here. I won’t have her returning to Hogwarts pregnant.”

Hermione giggled into her tea while Harry spluttered like a toad which had been stepped on. Draco managed to make out something like, “We haven’t, not yet, um” before Potter was interrupted.

“You were sleeping with dad during your final year of Hogwarts!” Ginny yelled at her mother.

Hermione shook her head and even Narcissa shared a smile with Dromeda.

“He had proposed and I was wearing the engagement ring!” Molly thundered.

“And a stupid ring would change anything?” Ginny demanded.

Before Molly could reply Ginny squealed. Hermione jumped out of her seat and raced for the doorway. Draco was not as frantic in his movements, but he did follow her.

Potter was kneeling on front of Ginny while Ron, Molly and Ginny stared at him.

“Will you marry me Ginny?” Harry managed, “I don’t have a ring, we can go buy -”

“OF COURSE, I WILL!”

Harry was spinning Ginny around within seconds. Ron dodged out of the way as her feet narrowly avoided his stomach.

Hermione surged forward to throw her arms around the young redhead. Harry was grinning so widely Draco was sure his face would hurt in a few minutes.

“Congratulations!” Hermione offered with scary enthusiasm. She let go of Ginny and pulled Harry into a tight hug.

Draco frowned at the image, even though he knew there was nothing to be jealous about.

Ron was still staring at the happy couple in shock, “Marriage? Blimey Harry, are you sure?”

“Shut-up Ron,” Molly Weasley said, suddenly crying. Ginny threw herself into her mother’s arms. Molly quickly pulled Harry into her embrace too.

Hermione hugged Ron and shoved him forward to offer his congratulations. The youngest Weasley brother was rather pale.

Draco offered his polite congratulations and withdrew. He sat next to his mother while the commotion continued in the next room.

“Young love,” Dromeda sighed, “I just don’t have the energy for it anymore.”

Narcissa smiled at her sister, “I am sure the drama associated with it drained you more than anything else.”

Dromeda nodded, “Somehow I don’t think young Ginny needs to worry about being ostracised by her family.”

Ron wandered into the kitchen wearing a confused expression. Draco had trouble thinking of him as ‘Weasley’ as the label could be applied to multiple people in the house, especially when his brothers dropped by.

Linna was happy to present him with food, which he inhaled at an impressive rate.

“Has Harry asked you to be the best man, Ronald?” Dromeda asked with a smile.

Ron nodded without pausing in his gorging. Draco wrinkled his nose at the poor table manners.

Molly and Potter returned to the kitchen within minutes. Thankfully Potter was fully dressed.

“We’ll head to Diagon Alley first,” Potter decided, “If Gin doesn’t find anything she likes we can expand from there.”

He was still wearing the stupid smile. Draco was happy for him, though unable to show it. Weaslette would definitely be able to keep Potter in line.

“Do you want to come too, Ron?” Potter asked.

Ron shrugged, “Sure. Geez, you’re engaged. Shit, Harry, you’re not even eighteen yet.”

“Language Ronald,” Molly admonished.

“Sorry mum. Half the school will think she’s pregnant already,” he pointed out.

“Who cares?” Draco replied smoothly, “By the end of the year when there is no baby most of them should figure it out.”

Ron nodded and with the tact he was legendary for, he added, “And they’ll probably be more interested in you trailing after Hermione anyway.”

Draco remembered why he had gone out of his way to insult this Weasley so often; he was an idiot.

“I’m sure it will be quite an adjustment,” Narcissa said regally, “I’m sure you will make every effort to defend Draco from unjust hatred though Ronald?”

Weasley blushed, “Um, sure.”

Across the table Dromeda just smiled.

Hermione reappeared a few minutes later dressed for a shopping trip.

“Come on, Draco,” she badgered, “I have to treat your back before we go.”

“How bad is it?” Dromeda asked worriedly, “Cissy mentioned a wound but wouldn’t elaborate.”

Draco knew he wasn’t going to be able to escape from the table without his aunt seeing the mess the Death Eaters had left. He stopped near the doorway to the living room and turned his back to show her.

The gasp of shock was expected though he still resented knowing he was going to be receiving pity every time someone saw it.

“Those bastards,” Dromeda growled, “That is going to scar badly.”

Draco shrugged, “We all have our scars,” he replied blandly, “I prefer the ones on the outside. At least this one doesn’t have a bloody snake on it.”

“And you don’t have to look at it,” Hermione added.

He followed Hermione to the lounge where she was pulling out the vial again. He was glad that he didn’t have to take the shirt off.

“Once I accused Ron of having the emotional range of a teaspoon,” Hermione said as she applied the potion confidently, “I think you are worse than he ever was.”

“I have them,” Draco offered, “I was trained to never express them.”

“Why?”

“It’s harder for people to manipulate you if they think you’re a sociopath.”

Hermione frowned at the back of his head, “No wonder you lot had to resort to arranged marriages; no woman wants to marry a robot.”

“What’s a robot?”

“A suit of armour that can talk.”

Hermione recorked the vial and took a long second to let her eyes wander up to his shoulders. The skinny little boy she had met in First Year had definitely filled out.

“From what I had read, Veela are not good at controlling their emotions,” Draco admitted quietly, “I fear what I will say or do if my self-control is suddenly removed.”

“You can sit up now. It’s not healing as well as it should. I’ll drop by St. Mungo’s while we’re out. I would ask you to come too, but we might be out past the, ah, deadline.”

Draco nodded at her, knowing he was not going anywhere while the transformation was looming so soon. He stood up carefully and wondered when she had started using charms on her hair to make it curl nicely rather than explode on her head.

“You know, you can show your emotions to me,” Hermione offered seriously, “You can be an arrogant arse around others, but I will need to see what’s really there.”

“If I turn into a blubbering mess this evening, remember it’s what you wanted,” Draco said darkly.

Hermione shook her head at him, “I can’t imagine you ever being a blubbering mess. Maybe if you were really drunk?”

“After this afternoon, anything is possible. Getting wasted might be the perfect thing to do.”

“Right, I’m sure that won’t mess with your self-control at all,” Hermione replied sarcastically.

“Have fun at Diagon Alley,” Draco said.

“Do you want me to get you anything while I’m there?” Hermione offered.

“A Time-Turner?” Draco suggested, “I’d like to go back and stop myself from being such a git for so long.”

Hermione wanted to hug him to reassure him that she didn’t hate him. Instead she offered him an uncertain smile and put the vial away. While she had her back turned Draco disappeared back into the kitchen.

Molly was beaming over her cup of tea. Clearly the unexpected proposal had solved all of the problems in the Burrow.

“That went rather well,” Narcissa commented.

“Suspiciously well,” Dromeda agreed, “Did you plan to put the idea of marriage into the conversation or was it a happy accident?”

Molly watched Draco sit down politely as Linna brought him another cup of tea.

“Ginny is as stubborn as I was,” Molly said lightly, “When my mother yelled something similar at me, Arthur proposed the next day. Harry was obviously quicker on the uptake.”

Dromeda turned toward Draco and he quashed the impulse to run. He lowered the cup of tea in case her words made him inhale int.

“Since you have a year to bond with Miss Granger, do you plan to propose before you return to Hogwarts?”

Draco frowned at her. “Thus far the plan is to not scare her this evening. Beyond that, I have no idea.”


	15. Engagement Rings and Silly Things

After three hours staring at engagement rings Hermione never wanted to see one again. She had advised Ginny to throw them in a bag and randomly pick one to save the time. She and Ron had tried to sneak away several times only to be stopped by Harry. He declared that if he had to suffer, so did they.

“If they had just disappeared into a different room, this wouldn’t have happened,” Ron muttered.

“That’s rubbish,” Hermione disagreed, “It was going to happen eventually. At least this way if they get busted at school they have a slightly better excuse.”

“Mum was impossible in the lead up to Bill’s wedding,” Ron continued, “Now her only daughter is getting married, making Harry an official part of the family. She’s going to go completely mental.”

“So, what if she does?” Hermione responded dismissively, “Let her have her fun and stay out of the way.”

“She kept badgering Charlie about finding a nice girl and even the twins got a lecture on the benefits of marriage. This time she’ll be on my back for weeks,” Ron moaned.

“Promise to ask out every girl from our year who returns to Hogwarts before you start asking the Seventh-Years,” Hermione suggested with a smile.

Ginny was analysing a ring and Harry was watching her hopefully. Hermione knew that he would empty his vault at Gringotts to make her happy.

“Do you think that would work?” Ron wondered.

“If it doesn’t, ask Charlie to set a dragon on her,” Hermione added with a smile.

“Yeah right,” Ron huffed, “Mum would skin it to make a nice suit or something.”

“Charlie and George will have it worse than you,” Hermione consoled impatiently, “Hide behind them.”

“Can’t you pretend to be my fiancée to keep mum at bay?” Ron actually looked hopeful at the prospect.

Hermione glared at him, “You’d end up with no arms once Draco got through with you.”

“It’s ‘Draco’ now is it?” Ron realized angrily.

“Settle down, Ron,” Hermione sighed, “You saw the same memories I did; we can at least be civil.”

“So, you haven’t snogged him yet?”

Ron was perilously close to earning a slap to the face. Hermione turned her full attention to her ex-boyfriend.

“He is injured and dreading the transformation; do you really think snogging has been on anyone’s mind?”

Ron had the decency to blush, “He’s always thinking about snogging you,” he decided, “The way he looks at you is flat-out creepy.”

“I can handle myself,” Hermione replied coldly, “If I need your help, I will ask.”

Ron despised the thought of Malfoy anywhere near her, “The moment he steps out of line I want to hear about it,” he said seriously, “I don’t trust him as far as Linna could throw him.”

Harry interrupted before Hermione could let out the irritable response brewing in her mind. He announced that Ginny had finally chosen a ring.

“Thank Merlin,” Ron replied, “I was beginning to wonder if the wedding would come before she chose one.”

“Shut it, Ronald,” Ginny replied from across the shop, “Or I’ll tell every single witch I know that you are secretly in love with Harry.”

“That wouldn’t believe you,” Ron replied. He stuck his tongue out at his sister to demonstrate his remarkable maturity.

“Then I’ll tell mum so she can come by the Great Hall every weekend to interview potential girlfriends for you,” Ginny replied.

Harry and Hermione giggled while Ron spluttered at his sister.

The ring had one diamond in the centre and a small emerald on either side. Ginny confided that she chose it because the emeralds reminded her of Harry’s eyes.

“You’re still not allowed to crawl into her bed,” Ron warned his friend as they left the store, “I bet mum has wards up by now.”

“She doesn’t have wards up at Hogwarts,” Ginny replied with a triumphant grin, “I can get into the boys’ dorm easy.”

Ron was glaring at the couple again. It took very little to rile him up.

“I wonder if we’ll be in the dorms,” Hermione mused, “I’m hoping there is somewhere more private since we’re older than usual.”

“Suggest it to McGonagall,” Ginny encouraged, “Maybe you’ll all get your own rooms.”

Harry was clearly entertaining that idea while he and Ginny shared a mischievous look. Ron was revolted.

“I think I will,” Hermione decided.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Bill and Fleur had come over for lunch. They were chatting with Dromeda and Fleur was cooing over the baby and making faces at her husband. Even Draco could tell that she was eager to start a family soon.

Draco was extremely uncomfortable as he sat across the table from them. Fleur was clearly eager to question him regarding the impending transformation. Before he could finish the food and escape she turned her attention to him.

“What time will it begin?” she asked.

“In about an hour,” Draco replied reluctantly. He silently hoped she would drop the subject.

“I found very little information on previous male Veelas,” Fleur continued, “The last one took seven hours to transition. I hope it is quicker for you.”

Draco nodded, “The stronger the better I guess.”

“If you’re really lucky, you will sprout wings when angry; most part-Veelas miss out on that,” Fleur offered.

“Wings?” Draco repeated, his voice much more shrill than normal.

Fleur nodded, “The claws come in handy sometimes but be careful when arguing with your mate.”

Narcissa watched the colour fade from her sons’ face. He was hiding his fear well, but the idea of wings and claws clearly disturbed him. She deliberately steered the conversation back to babies and weddings.

Harry and Ginny were the first to return. They were beaming and Ginny was pleased to watch the women coo over her engagement ring.

“Did you get an engagement ring too Potter?” Draco asked casually, “Or maybe a tattoo across your forehead saying, ‘If found please return to Weaslette’?”

Narcissa reached out to slap Draco on the back of the head without the cup of tea wobbling at all. Ron and Hermione entered the kitchen just in time to see it.

“Thank-you, Mother,” Draco said calmly, “I am fully awake now.”

Harry and Ron smothered their laughter while Hermione watched Draco thoughtfully.

“Does that always work when Draco says something inappropriate?” Hermione asked Narcissa.

“It has always worked for me,” Narcissa replied with a smile, “You have my permission to discipline him in such a manner whenever he steps out of line.”  
“Mother!” Draco hissed.

“Yes, Draco?” She had far too much practise controlling her facial muscles to react under his glare.

“When you look at me like that I see the eight-year-old boy who didn’t want to come in to have dinner because he had received a new broom for his birthday,” Narcissa pointed out, “If you are going to insist on provoking Mr Potter and Mr Weasley it is perfectly acceptable for Miss Granger to step in.”

“Miss Granger has proven many times that she can ‘step in’ without any encouragement from you,” Draco replied irritably.

“That’s true,” Ron laughed, “I’ll never forget that time in Third Year when she punched you in the face Malfoy.”

Most of the people present smiled at the image. Narcissa watched her son with raised eyebrows which clearly demanded an explanation.

“Why did I never hear about this?”

Draco shrugged, “Father would have locked me in the dungeon for a week if he found out.”

“And, you deserved it,” Hermione added.

The mention of the dungeon had leeched the mirth out of the conversation.

“Maybe you should get a ring, Harry,” Ginny mused.

“Why are you listening to Malfoy?” Potter asked hurriedly.

“Harry doesn’t want to spend another three hours in jewellery stores,” Ron laughed.

“How about a ring through his nose so you can lead him around?” Draco suggested. He ducked away from his mother’s hand before she could repeat the head slap.

“If you want me to wear a ring, I will wear a ring,” Potter conceded, “Just no more shopping today please? If I dream tonight, it will be about racks of engagement rings chasing me while I scream for mercy.”

Ginny laughed at the imagery and the couple began to get that love-sick expression Draco associated with impending vomit. “If you two are going to snog again, please leave the room,” he suggested seriously, “We just ate.”

“Seconded,” Ron muttered.

“Let’s go check if mum has warded all the rooms yet,” Ginny suggested.

Draco couldn’t see a ring through Potter’s nose, but he followed her as though it was already there. If he tried that with Hermione she would probably try to feed him to the giant squid.

Ron and Hermione sat down to have some lunch. Hermione was watching Linna worriedly. Draco admired the crease between her eyebrows which indicated deep thought.

“Do you like serving people, Linna?” Hermione asked curiously.

Linna smiled at the strange witch, “Linna loves helping people. Mistress Narcissa has always been wonderful to Linna.”

“So, you would never want to be freed?”

Linna appeared appalled, “No, never. To be free would mean being alone, lost and miserable. House Elves don’t like cold forests; other creatures eat us.”

Hermione seemed surprised by the revelation, “Is that why House Elves stay with the one family for generations.”

“We like to stay with the same family because they ARE our family. Does Miss Hermione understand? Linna has never been asked before.”

Hermione nodded, “I think I understand. Does that mean House Elves don’t have babies of their own?”

Narcissa and Dromeda giggled. Draco also suppressed a smile.

“We do,” Linna said hesitantly, “But only when all the work is done. We require, um, privacy for that.” The House Elf was blushing and excused herself quickly.

“From what I have gathered over the years, House Elves mate for life,” Narcissa said to Hermione, “One day she will simply know her mate and where to find him. I doubt I will ever meet him or any of their offspring unless Linna decides we are worthy of having her child in our service too.”

“Thank-you for lunch, Mrs Weasley and Linna,” Draco said politely, “If you’ll excuse me?”

“Good luck Draco,” Narcissa offered.

Draco was relieved to leave the room before an in-depth discussion of potential House-Elf mating rituals broke out. He had always found Hermione fascinating and her interest in the strangest topics was part of that. He was worried that he would laugh at an innocent question and hurt her feelings.

The shed loomed before him ominously. He had always thought he would be locked in the dungeon when the Veela emerged. He would never have guessed how his life was going to turn out.

The manacles he had conjured reminded him of how dangerous he was going to be. He knew he would be incapable of physically injuring Hermione; he was worried about her emotional state. His disdain for Potter and Weasley could translate to hurt her. He expected he would live in constant pain if the emotional connection between them was too strong.

If the transition took closer to the ten hours his Veela traits would be weaker; he would be able to keep most of her emotions from incapacitating him. If he awoke after only a few hours, the slightest hurt she felt could cut through him like a knife.

Everything he had read assured him that there would not be a telepathic connection between them, which was a relief. He knew he was arrogant and abrasive; he did not want to subject her to the thoughts he had to filter before they left his mouth.

Draco wished he could live the self-absorbed façade he had successfully portrayed for years. If he could push aside any concern for his mate he would embrace the powers his Veela heritage would bring, seduce Hermione, and live the life of an uncaring bastard. Instead he was considering asking Ronald Weasley to get Hermione out of the country and then making his mother promise to lock him in the Manor dungeon until he was dead.

Being noble and self-sacrificing was a pain in the arse.


	16. To Sulk and to Scheme

Hermione finished her lunch and followed Draco out to the shed. Though she tried to dissuade him, Ron accompanied her.

“I just don’t get it,” Ron complained, “What is left to say?”

“Ron, if you were about to face hours of agony wouldn’t you want to know someone cares?” Hermione demanded irritably.

“He wants more from you than some nice words,” Ron muttered.

“Why don’t you wait here? I won’t be long.”

Ron wasn’t deterred, “I need to make sure he’s not manipulating you with any Veela magic or whatever.”

“And you’re assuming I’m too stupid to notice if he was trying to do that?”

Ron didn’t realize he was on metaphorical quicksand, “Not stupid, just trusting. You like to see the best in everyone.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Hermione said in a falsely sweet voice, “I’m trying to appreciate your concern rather than get pissed off that you think I am so naive.”

Ron began to reply when Malfoy interrupted him.

“If you two are finished pecking at each other, I’d like to be left in peace.”

Hermione glared at Ron before peeking into the doorway. He was lying on the mattress and his wand was on the floor next to it.

“Sorry Draco,” she said quickly, “I just wanted to ask if you needed anything.”

“Usually, I would enjoy listening to the bickering and waiting for you to bitch-slap Weasley,” Draco responded with a smirk, “Sadly, my mind is on other things.”

“I can’t help but wonder if there are any potions or even Muggle treatments for the pain,” Hermione mused.

“It’s a bit late for that,” Draco sighed, “And I’m sure Potter and Weasley would enjoy hearing me scream far too much. I threw up a couple of silencing charms just to deny them the pleasure.”

“Well, I’ll leave you to it.”

“Actually, you can help me with one thing,” Draco realized.

“Want me to gag you?” Ron asked hopefully. Hermione shoved her elbow into his gut.

“I knew you were kinky, Weasley,” Draco replied.

“Ron, go. I will be over in a minute.”

Ron stomped away while muttering something about ‘annoying, pain-in-the-arse ferrets’.

“What do you need help with?” Hermione asked as soon as Ron was out of earshot.

“Can you attach the manacles?” Draco asked, “I don’t want to be able to move too much so they might need to be shortened. I’d hate to end up with ‘Loo Rat’ on my back again.”

Hermione moved to the opposite side of the bed and picked up the chain. It was surprisingly heavy. Draco held out his arm so she could attach it around his wrist.

“This is pretty barbaric,” she commented.

“I don’t want to risk giving in to violent, possessive impulses. If I have enough sense to use my wand to free myself, I can trust myself not to do something stupid,” Draco explained.

Hermione used her wand to shorten the chain and made sure the manacle had smooth edges, so they didn’t dig into his skin too badly. She conjured a pair of scarves to provide a buffer between the metal and his wrists.

“I spoke to Bill about this,” Hermione admitted, “He says you’ll still have the same personality and everything. I doubt these chains are necessary.”

Draco admired her profile as she worked. As she gently secured the manacle around his wrist he knew he was not going to risk her.

“There is not enough evidence to prove that male Veela react the same as the female,” he said softly, “I’d rather wear the chains than scare you.”

“Were you always this noble?” Hermione asked flatly, “Coming from a Slytherin, it is really strange.”

Draco chuckled at her as she moved around to secure his other wrist. She moved his wand, so it was at the edge of his reach.

“Cunning and ambition are main traits of Slytherins,” Draco agreed, “But that doesn’t mean we don’t have other attributes too.”

“Snape was in Slytherin and he turned out to be incredibly brave,” Hermione conceded.

Draco didn’t want to speak about his godfather. A Slytherin falling in love with a muggle-born witch and sacrificing everything for her hit a little too close to home.

“Well you should probably find Weasley before he falls down a gnome hole or gets a hangnail,” Draco mused, “I doubt he could find his way home without assistance.”

Hermione frowned at him, “So instead of taking a complement you have to try to piss me off by insulting one of my best friends. There’s the Slytherin I’ve known since First Year. I’ll see you later.”

Hermione left with a huff of annoyance. Draco watched her go, knowing he had only minutes before the pain would begin.

He tried to use the meditation techniques he had learned while mastering Occlumency to relax as much as possible. As he began to make progress the tingling in his chest marked the first sensation of the change. 

There was no pain during the first few minutes, only a warm sensation flowing through his limbs. He tried to remain calm and let the change happen, but the warmth soon became an uncomfortable heat.

An agonised hiss escaped his lips and he was acutely reminded of the many times he had suffered the Cruciatus curse from his Father or the Snake-Eyed Bastard. The physical pain was always more intense with the latter though the emotion pain of suffering at the point of his fathers’ wand hurt more.

Draco clung to the mattress as he burned and kept Hermione’s face in his mind. He would endure; he had suffered too damn much to lose her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione found Ron sulking in his bedroom. She knew he was awake and ignoring her; after sharing a tent for months she could easily tell he was faking sleep.

She sat on the end of his bed and waited. A few long minutes passed before he gave in.

“Shouldn’t you be snuggling up with Malfoy?” he asked bitterly.

As soon as his unfair accusation reached her ears Hermione had an epiphany; Ron didn’t want a partner, he wanted someone to fuss over him like a mother. As the youngest of six sons his need for female attention had developed under the competition from older, more successful brothers. Even after everything he had done his self-esteem remained low.

“That’s not fair Ron, and you know it,” Hermione said quietly.

He didn’t reply or react at all.

“Would you be acting like this if it were Neville or Dean?”

He shrugged, “Don’t know. At least I like Neville and Dean.”

“I’d like to know if you are jealous of losing my friendship, or angry that it is Malfoy intent on pursuing me. Until you figure that out, there is nothing more to say.”

Hermione stood up, regarded him for a moment and then left the room. As she passed the doorway flickered. She reached out and found that she couldn’t re-enter his room even if she wanted to.

Though she was hurt that Ron couldn’t look past his own prejudice, she was able to forgive him on the basis of his immaturity. Even though he was eighteen already he had not truly grown up. More than ever, she was glad they had broken up before she had committed her heart to him.

“Hermione!”

Ginny peered out the doorway to their shared room, curled around the door which was mostly closed. She waved her friend over frantically.

Hermione was happy to push aside her thoughts of Draco in agony and Ron wallowing in bitterness in favour of Ginny’s happiness.

Ginny yanked her friend into the room, shut the door and cast silencing charms. Hermione stretched out on her bed and watched her with a smile.

“How is Draco?” Ginny asked anxiously, “Ron is being a prat, so something happened. Did you kiss him?”

“I chained him up and left him to suffer the pain by himself,” Hermione admitted, not wanting to discuss Draco, “Ron is sulking because I spoke to Draco. He might explode if we actually kissed.”

Ginny nodded, “He’s like a child who doesn’t want his favourite toy but doesn’t want anyone else to have it either.”

Hermione frowned, “I was never his ‘toy’.”

“You know what I mean; Ron doesn’t want you as his girlfriend, but he is offended by anyone else wanting you,” she clarified.

“He is also offended that it is Malfoy of all people,” Hermione added, “As though he has a choice.”

“Well, I still love you,” Ginny declared proudly, “And Harry does too. If he says anything against you, I’ll box his ears.”

Hermione giggled, “I’m glad he has you to keep him in line.”

Ginny nodded, “Ron was trying to spin some story about this all being a hoax or something. Harry wanted to believe it; I could tell by the way he was acting. I’m glad I was there to call them both idiots.”

“I swear, sometimes they act like they are still eleven years old,” Hermione agreed, “Is it so hard to believe that Draco was acting? Or that he has changed from the bigoted turd he used to be?”

Ginny sat crossed-legged on the bed, “Boys believe what they see; it keeps their minds from becoming cluttered with what could be. I think they use all the spare brain-power to think about sex.”

Laughter bubbled up inside Hermione; Ginny never failed to amuse with her candid observations and willingness to blurt them out without embarrassment.

“Speaking of sex,” Hermione teased, “Now that you have a fiancée, are you planning any in-depth conversations with Harry about it?”

Ginny blushed, “That’s what I wanted your help with. I want to tell mum that we’re going to Diagon Alley and then go to Grimmauld place instead.”

“You can’t talk to him here?” Hermione wondered.

Ginny was so red she resembled a tomato, “I wasn’t planning to do much talking once we’re there,” she admitted.

Shock flooded through Hermione, “You’re planning to seduce him?”

Ginny snorted, “Trust me, he doesn’t need seducing. This morning -”

“Stop right there!” Hermione cried, “Do not torture me with details.”

Ginny shrugged but fell silent. Hermione knew she had no knowledge of sex to offer. Their conversation from the previous day worried her. She had never set out to investigate the topic, though her research into various Healing potions and charms had referenced the problem a few times.

“Ginny, if neither of you knows what you’re doing it will hurt,” Hermione said finally.

“I know,” Ginny admitted, “I considered asking Fleur but then she’d tell Bill and mum wouldn’t let me use the bathroom without strict supervision. There’s only one person I can approach who knows about, you know, sex if the girl is a virgin.”

Hermione waited, wondering who Ginny was referring too. Dromeda? It would be awkward but better than asking Molly.

“Who?”

“Dear Merlin, this is weird. Promise you won’t freak out?”

Hermione waited impatiently, “I don’t know who you’re talking about, so I don’t know if I’m going to freak out.”

Ginny bit her lip, clearly worried, “Well, I was thinking of getting Harry to talk to Draco.”

“WHAT?”

“You promised not to freak out!” Ginny pleaded.

“No, I didn’t!”

“Just settle down! I don’t know who else to ask. He’s been with a few girls -”

Hermione cringed at the reminder.

“- so, he must know stuff right? He knows you’d kill him if he went out of his way to embarrass Harry or tell mum.”

Hermione pulled her pillow over her face as though she was trying to smother herself. She had to admit that Ginny’s idea wasn’t actually terrible. Draco had admitted to sleeping with a handful of girls; the odds were one or more had been a virgin. Even so, the idea made her feel sick.

Ginny pulled the pillow away, “Suicide is not the answer to my sex life.”

“How are you going to convince Harry to have THAT conversation?” Hermione asked seriously.

The determined expression which Ginny wore resembled her mother at her stubbornest.

“If he doesn’t cooperate I will immobilise him and present him to Draco to teach.”

“If he is willing to share anything,” Hermione pointed out.


	17. Veela

When the pain finally faded away a strange shiver passed through Draco’s body. He sat up suddenly with very little effort.

His vision was sharper than before the transition, and the sounds of the Weasley family indicated that his hearing had dramatically improved.

His chest ached and connected to the pain was a compulsion to get up, move and seek what he needed. The manacles fell away under the power of his wand.

Draco rolled his shoulders as he grew used to the changes in his body. He was stronger yet his back was still sore; clearly Veela healing properties did not apply to pre-existing injuries. He had always been lean and the transformation had defined the muscles of his body. He wondered if his Quidditch skills would also be amplified.

His mate was close. The path leading to her was invisible even though he could sense it deep in his chest. He tilted his head back and could smell the faintest scent of parchment.

The smile which graced his lips had made younger students cower from him. Even Death Eaters had never quite relaxed when they saw him look like that.

The sun was still high in the sky. Draco wondered how long the pain had lasted; it had felt like days.

The Weasley house loomed ahead. The pull toward his mate led toward it so he moved forward without hesitation. His steps were lighter, even with the added muscle in his legs.

The scent veered away from the home in the final metres and led him to the overgrown garden.

Hermione sat on a blanket with a book in her lap. She faced the house so he could see her profile clearly. She had her wand in her hand and was practising spell movements.

Draco admitted the way the sunlight highlighted strands of her hair and the breeze made the curls tremble. She was truly beautiful, and her appearance was a pale echo of the inner beauty she possessed.

The scar on his arm and the pain he would feel if she rejected him were worth it. He wanted to simply enjoy her company for as long as she would allow it.

Draco reached for the emotional control he had mastered as a child, only to find it inadequate. A shiver of fear ran down his spine.

The pull toward her was too strong to resist for more than a few seconds. She was the bright light and he was the moth she had transfixed.

Hermione had chosen the spot in the garden because if was quiet, had some sunlight filtering through and was in clear view of the house. If anyone wanted to check up on Draco she would see them. She didn’t expect Draco to be the first one to appear.

Hermione felt her heart accelerate abruptly when his bare feet moved in her peripheral vision. She looked up in surprise to see those grey eyes regarding her intently.

“Draco, um, is it over?”

He nodded without speaking.

“Are you hungry? Can I get you something to drink? How is your back?”

The smile he offered her interrupted her babbling, “I’m fine. May I sit with you?”

Hermione nodded warily. She appreciated his manners considering how concerned he had been that his behaviour would be uncontrollable.

While he had never been clumsy, there was something cat-like about his movements that he had not possessed before. She watched him sit down beside her with admirable grace. Rather than sit cross-legged he leaned on one arm, so his chin was almost touching her shoulder.

“Is this alright?” he asked quietly.

Alright? His proximity was unnerving even as his interest in her was decidedly flattering.

“Um, yeah.”

“I’m sorry to break your concentration,” he offered.

“Couldn’t be helped.”

“You’re not reading anymore,” Draco observed.

“Yes I am. See? This is a book.”

Draco leaned forward so her hair tickled his face. He breathed in her scent and let the warmth of her presence slide through his body.

“You bite your lip when you are engrossed in a book,” he revealed to the side of her neck, “I guess it’s less interesting than me.”

“It’s about Veelas,” Hermione said nervously. He was so close to touching her. She could feel her hair moving.

Draco pulled back abruptly, “I’m sorry, I’m making you uncomfortable.”

Hermione had to admit that he was correct, yet she didn’t want him to leave.

“Do you still feel like yourself?” Hermione asked tentatively.

Draco glanced at the book, “I am the same, but hiding my emotions is harder. Mastering the control I had before will be difficult.”

“So, don’t,” Hermione suggested, “Showing emotions is not a weakness.”

“Spoken like a true Gryffindor,” he mused.

Draco summoned an orange rose with his wand. He made the thorns vanish with another quick movement.

“For you, my Lady,” Draco offered with a smile.

Hermione blushed and accepted the rose.

“An orange rose represents fascination,” Draco explained, “One day I will offer you a single red rose to represent love.”

Fascination was definitely the word. He was staring at her as though content to never look away.

“The transformation lasted less than two hours,” Hermione said as she raised the rose to her nose to smell the scent, “We should go inside so you mother doesn’t have to stress anymore.”

As long as she was happy to remain near him he really didn’t care where they went. Hermione tucked the book under her arm and used her wand to shake out the blanket and fold it neatly.

“Are you sure I’m your mate?” she asked quietly.

“Absolutely. I followed the pull right to you and your scent is mouth-watering.”

“Is that why you sniffed my hair?”

Draco leaned forward to inhale her scent again in lieu of an answer.

“Here, you can carry this,” she said as she handed the blanket and book to him.

Draco had hoped to get an armful of her, so the blanket was a sad substitute.

The butterflies in Hermione’s stomach were relentless. She imagined a hundred of the creatures desperately fighting out of a crystal ball.

She wasn’t sure why she was reacting to him so easily; only hours ago she had been able to remain calm and logical even while touching him. She assumed the Veela in him was to blame, yet the way he had leaned into her personal space and offered her a flower had been positively charming.

“Are Potter and Weasley lying in wait to ambush me?” Draco asked, not entirely joking.

“Only if you get grabby,” Hermione replied, “Keep your hands to yourself and I’ll keep them in line.”

“I’m sure you will keep Weasley in line,” Draco mused as he held the door open for her, “Weaslette seems to have Potter on a pretty short leash as it is.”

Hermione felt awkward around him and she didn’t like it. He had always been handsome so the amplification of his physical characteristics shouldn’t leave her so unsteady. Was she that shallow?

Narcissa rose to her feet as soon as she saw Draco. He placed the book and blanket on a chair and moved forward to reassure her.

“So soon? Oh, Draco!” Narcissa clung to her only child with stark relief. He had endured so much throughout his life and this was his only chance to be happy.

“Less than two hours,” Hermione agreed, “Very fast.”

Arthur Wesley lowered the copy of the Daily Prophet he was reading, “I have to report in that the Veela has emerged. I doubt it will affect your trial Draco, but as Veela are a protected species the Ministry has to be informed.”

Draco nodded, not really caring. Narcissa pulled back from him and studied him from head to toe. Arthur headed to his office to send an owl.

“You were always handsome,” she admitted, “Try not to draw in females by accident Draco.”

He blushed and refrained from glancing at Hermione, “I will endeavour not to.”

Narcissa released him completely, “Molly has graciously offered to let you stay for the remainder of the summer,” she said, “Arthur is going to request a change of location for me; Dromeda has asked me to stay with her.”

Hermione headed upstairs, needing to find Ginny.

“I am glad you will have Dromeda and Teddy,” Draco said softly, “With Lucius on the loose I feared my return to Hogwarts would leave you vulnerable.”

“Now there is no need to worry; you have other matters to focus on.”

“Of course,” Draco replied with a teasing smile, “School.”

Narcissa waved a finger in his face, “I’m not kidding young man. Keep Miss Granger close. If your Father is cooperating with former Death Eaters she will be his first target.”

Draco hated being reminded that the cowardly bastard was his father, “He would only attempt to kill Hermione if he managed to secure another heir first.”

Narcissa knew there were worse things in the world than death, “If he were to kidnap her, he would force you to do whatever he wants. I trust your Veela instincts are strong enough to protect her at all costs?”

“It is all I can do to remain calm since she is not in my sight,” Draco admitted.

“Then go to her,” Narcissa ordered quietly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ginny was standing on front of her closet sorting out which pieces she could transfigure into an outfit for an engagement party. No matter how talented the witch or wizard, transfigured clothing never retained the quality of the original piece. Harry had offered to buy her a new dress, but she knew it would be irresponsible not to check her existing clothing first.

Hermione rushed into the room and threw herself down on the bed. She held the orange rose in front of her as though it had a secret to reveal.

“What’s up?” Ginny asked curiously.

“Draco is awake,” Hermione replied absently, “He gave me this.”

Ginny observed the blush her friend wore.

“The transformation as so fast,” Hermione mused, “The Veela must be very strong.”

“Why do you sound more worried than relieved?” Ginny abandoned her closet to sit on her own bed.

“I’m so nervous Gin,” Hermione admitted, “I freeze up every time he looks at me.”

Ginny grinned, “You have a crush! It’s normal.”

“Not for me,” Hermione muttered.

“I was the same when I first met Harry,” Ginny related nostalgically, “Do you remember? I couldn’t even speak!”

“I was fine yesterday,” Hermione complained, “And this morning. I’m worried that it’s just the Veela I’m reacting to.”

Ginny considered her thoughtfully, “Did it start right away when you say him after he turned?”

Hermione turned the rose over in her hands, “No. It began when he gave me this.”

Ginny was grinning again, “So it’s not the Veela; it’s the first step in courtship unsettling you.”

“Why should that give me butterflies?”

Ginny headed back to the closet, “Well, Ron couldn’t woo anyone to save his life and Krum was the strong, silent type. Isn’t this the first time a guy has made his intentions known?”

“I guess.”

Ginny spotted Draco ascending the stairs. She caught his eye and held a finger to her lips. He stopped and watched the redhead with concern.

“But you think Draco is hot, right?” Ginny asked sneakily.

Catching on, Draco leaned against the wall near the doorway. He didn’t approve of eavesdropping but if Weaslette thought it was necessary he was willing to trust her judgement.

“Of course,” Hermione huffed, “I’m not blind.”

“So, what should he be doing to help you stop being so nervous while he’s around?”

Draco was listening avidly. He could feel the anxiety coming from his mate and he did want to know how to calm her.

“I need to know what he wants or expects,” Hermione mused, “He sniffed my hair earlier, which was nice but strange. I kept wondering if he was about to kiss me or something.”

Ginny could see how worried Draco was; it was an expression she had never seen on the blonde before.

“Well, since he’s right here, he should tell you himself.”


	18. Planning Torture

“Ginny!” Hermione cried angrily, “You manipulating little cow!”

“Moo,” Ginny teased with a grin. She reached out to pull Draco into the doorway of the room.

“Don’t touch him!” Hermione hissed. As soon as she had said the words she was confused.

“I guess he’s not the only possessive one,” Ginny mused, “I’ll keep my hands to myself from now on.”

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” Draco apologized, “I wasn’t listening very long.”

Hermione was still annoyed that he had been listening, though it was clearly Ginny’s fault.

“Mum has warded the room,” Ginny said to him, “Harry tried to walk in and ended up on his butt in the hallway.”

Draco reached his hand out and felt the energy barrier Mrs Weasley had put in place. He was surprised when his hand slipped past it slowly.

“Does magic affect Veela like a regular wizard or witch?” Hermione wondered, “Other species seem to reflect a lot of it.” She was thinking of giants and knew he wouldn’t appreciate the comparison.

Draco stepped forward and felt the barrier try to stop his progress. He had never gone swimming in honey, but it was the closest comparison he could make. After a few long seconds the ward released him, so he was able to step into the room completely.

“Mum will be pissed off,” Ginny laughed, “I wonder if you could pull Harry in here?”

Draco frowned at her, “I wouldn’t try.”

“Spoilsport.”

Hermione sat up and moved back until she was sitting against the headboard. Her stomach was filled with butterflies again.

“May I sit down?” Draco asked politely.

Hermione nodded and watched him perch on the end of her bed. Her anxiety crested sharply.

“I’m sorry this is upsetting you,” Draco managed, “I don’t know what to do.”

He could feel her emotions in the back of his mind. The fluttered there as an echo of what she was feeling. It was a strange sensation.

Ginny sighed, “You two are hopeless!”

Hermione supressed a smile as she anticipated what was going to happen; Ginny never failed to amuse.

“Do you have something to add Weaslette?” Draco asked coldly. Somehow his arrogant tone reassured Hermione that he really hadn’t changed.

“Yes, I bloody well do!” Ginny replied, “Now as a Veela what do you need? I know you want to climb into bed with my best friend but what will keep the Veela relatively soothed in the short term?”

Hermione blushed at the frank mention of the bed even as she silently thanked her friend for breaking the tension.

“Being close is very calming,” Draco said to Hermione, “Breathing in your scent is like sinking into a warm bath at the end of a long day.” The colour was rising in his cheeks, too.

“Is that enough for now?” Ginny asked.

Draco glanced back at the bossy redhead, “I’m not sure.”

“Do you need physical contact?” Ginny persisted, “If holding hands will keep everyone in control you need to test it sooner rather than later.”

Draco turned back to Hermione. The urge to touch her was strong and hard to resist.

“Touch my ankle,” Hermione instructed.

Draco didn’t need to be told twice. He ran one finger along the side of her foot and felt most of his tension slip away.

Hermione was smiling too, “I can feel something too, like a pleasant tingling?”

Ginny closed the door. Hermione recognised the mischievous expression on her face.

Draco slipped off Hermione’s shoe and began to gently rub her foot. She moaned a little at the sensation.

“No moaning,” Ginny reprimanded quickly, “Mum will burst in and accuse us of having an orgy or something.”

“That was Ron,” Hermione managed.

“Anyway, in exchange for making that conversation relatively painless, I have a favour to ask of you, Draco,” Ginny announced.

Draco continued to massage his mate’s foot. He had to admit that without the assistance of the younger witch he would have blundered like a fool in the dark trying to communicate with Hermione.

“A favour?” Draco mused, “This could be bad. I don’t even know if it is even possible to give you brother a personality transplant.”

“Nothing like that,” Ginny assured him. Clearly she was nervous that her request would be refused.

Hermione watched Draco finish with one foot and pick up the other. She enjoyed the sensation of feeling his skin on hers even if it was only her rough feet.

“Something much, much worse,” she said ominously.

As Ginny explained what she wanted him to speak to Harry about Draco felt all the tension come back in a rush. By the end of the short explanation the younger witch was blushing. The colour clashed horribly with her hair.

“You can’t be serious?”

“Completely serious,” Ginny replied.

“Potter is still a virgin? What a dork,” Draco snickered. He had a brief fantasy which involved the entire school falling laughing to hard they fell onto the floor of the Great Hall.

Ginny slapped him over the back of the head as Narcissa had earlier, “None of that! Just because you were a whore before you turned doesn’t mean everyone is. I’m glad Harry wasn’t out sampling every slag in a skirt.”

“I’m not a whore,” Draco disagreed quietly.

Ginny rolled her eyes, “Sure. From what I hear you haven’t been a virgin since you were in Fourth Year.”

“Fourteen?” Hermione yelped, “I didn’t even get my first kiss until I was fifteen.”

“That doesn’t make me a whore,” Draco pointed out.

“How about ‘a bit slutty’?” Ginny teased.

Draco couldn’t argue with that one. He knew when he returned to Hogwarts he would have to have a chat with Daphne; unless she chose not to return at all.

“Why not get your brother to talk to him?” Draco asked.

Ginny rolled her eyes, “Yeah right, as if he’s going to want to give sex tips to be used with his sister. You’re supposed to be smart, Malfoy.”

“They could keep it hypothetical, assuming either one knows what that means,” Draco replied, “Unless………. Is Weasley a virgin too?”

“No,” Hermione said.

Draco appeared disgusted, “Who slept with him? I bet she had to gag him so he would shut-up long enough.”

“It was Lavender Brown,” Hermione said shortly, “And she was definitely not a virgin at the time.”

“So, will you talk to Harry, without embarrassing him any more than necessary?” Ginny asked hopefully.

“You are a pain in the arse woman!” Draco growled. He had stopped massaging Hermione’s foot and simply held her ankle to maintain the contact.

“Is that a yes?” Ginny prodded.

“Fine, but you have to take his wand first and if he runs away I’m not chasing him.”

Ginny grinned, “Thank-you! And if he does run away I’ll immobilise him and drag him back.”

“You’re evil,” Draco decided.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry spent a full half hour trying to convince Ron to grow up and not be an idiot before deciding it was a lost cause.

He loved Ron like a brother, but it didn’t blind him to his flaws. He was beginning to agree with Hermione who had declared that Ron needed a woman like his mother to smack him over the back of the head when he was being stupid.

Harry spent some time with Ginny discussing the engagement party and wedding. They had agreed to wait until after graduation to have the ceremony. Ginny wanted to have the engagement party before they returned to Hogwarts, which was fine by him.

Ginny headed upstairs to see if she had something suitable to wear or transfigure for the party. As he was not roped into another shopping trip he was not bothered by what she wore.

His mind took a quick side-track to ponder what she would wear under a fancy dress before he sternly reminded himself that he was living with his future in-laws. He and Ginny had agreed that her parents were effective mood-killers. She had also hinted that they should sneak off to Grimmauld place for some time alone. Even though he was keen on that idea he was still nervous. He loved Ginny and didn’t want their first time to be awful.

Harry knocked on the door of the room Ginny and Hermione shared. He wasn’t sure why it would be closed but after the fiasco with Ron and the new ward on the door he wasn’t taking any chances.

Ginny opened the door and grinned at him. Harry was about to speak when his mind registered what his eyes were seeing; Hermione and Draco were on her bed together.

“What the hell?” Harry demanded.

Ginny sighed, “Apparently whatever spell mum cast doesn’t work properly on Veelas.”

Draco had Hermione’s foot in his lap. The sight of the two of them touching creeped Harry out no end.

“That’s not fair!” Harry complained, “I can’t even come in, but he can molest Hermione’s feet?”

Draco smirked, clearly enjoying pissing off Potter. Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Just talking,” Ginny assured her fiancée, “I’d hex them if they tried anything with me in the room.”

Harry tried to ignore the couple on the bed, “Why was the door closed?” he asked Ginny.

She blushed, which only confused him more, “I have asked a favour of Draco. As a matter of fact, he needs to speak to you right now; out in the shed would be a good place.”

“Not right now Weaslette,” Draco snapped. Harry noted that the blonde appeared uncomfortable too.

“Right this minute,” Ginny said flatly, turning on Draco with her hands on her hips, “Or I tell mum that you can get in here. She might bury you in the backyard or something.”

“That might get Ron out of his room,” Harry mused.

Hermione was smiling at Draco and the expression could only be described as evil, “Go on Draco, you need to have a chat with Harry.”

Harry had walked up to Voldemort to die yet the way the three were acting made him want to back away in cowardice.

“Do I need to impose an Unbreakable Vow to ensure you don’t go out of your way to embarrass my fiancée?” Ginny asked Draco threateningly.

Harry backed away from the doorway. Something very unpleasant was being planned.

Draco watched the fear dawn on Potter’s face. Enduring the conversation would be worth watching the Chosen Dork squirm.

“Alright Potter, we’re going to have a chat in the shed. Give Weaslette your wand.”

“My wand? No way!”

Ginny distracted him by planting her lips on his. Harry gave in to the sensation and enjoyed her hands on him until she pulled his wand out of his pocked and darted back into the room with it.

“Unfair!” Harry complained, “Give that back! I’m not going anywhere with you Malfoy.”

“Yes, you are,” Ginny said confidently, “Don’t make me use magic to force you.”

“Ginny?” Harry pleaded.

Ginny moved back within the range of his arms and whispered something into his ear. He turned bright red.

“Fine, I’m going to the stupid shed. Hurry up Malfoy.”

Draco watched their interaction with unconcealed interest. As Potter stomped away he turned on Weaslette with increased respect.

“How did you get him to do that?”

Ginny smiled innocently, “I told him I was wearing black lacy underwear and if he didn’t cooperate I would never, ever model it for him.”

Hermione waved her hand to encourage Draco to leave, “Put the poor thing out of his misery,” she instructed, “We’ll wait in the garden in case he tries to run away.”

Before Draco left the room he winked at Hermione, “Maybe you could model something for me afterwards?”

Ginny threw her pillow at him.

“I’m going! You’re a violent little thing, Weaslette!”

Ginny smiled triumphantly at Hermione once Draco was on his way, “I think that went well,” she decided.

“Until Harry makes a run for it,” Hermione pointed out, “Let’s go outside to cut off his escape.”


	19. Moving Forward

Ginny and Hermione only had to wait three minutes before Harry emerged from the shed, clearly flustered.

“ _Petrificus Totalus_!” Hermione cried. Harry fell over on his face in the full body-bind.

Ginny apologized to her fiancée as she and Hermione rolled him over. Harry glared at them.

“Draco!” Hermione called, “Come help carry him!”

Draco leaned against the doorway to the shed, “No, thank-you. If Potter doesn’t want to hear what I have to say that is fine by me. I’m not going to force him to learn how to please his woman. If he wants to be pathetic in bed, that’s his choice.”

Ginny levitated Harry while she swore in Malfoy’s direction. Hermione stood back and watched the drama unfold.

“Harry, I don’t want to return to Hogwarts as a virgin!” Ginny whispered in his ear.

Hermione blushed. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at her.

“If you have to leave for early classes in mid-July we have just over a month!” Ginny continued, “I don’t plan to spend that time fussing over wedding invitations.”

“What did you say to scare him off?” Hermione asked Draco suspiciously.

He tried to look innocent and failed, “Me? Scare Potter? As if. I was being helpful.”

Hermione continued to glare at him, “Fine, he is such a wimp the mention of pictures to aid the process made him run.”

Ginny moved Harry back into the shed and threatened to leave him there for the night if he didn’t cooperate. After a few moments she removed the spell.

“Harry, if you don’t at least try to listen to what this prat has to say I will bind you and Ron out here, so you have to listen together!” Ginny threatened.

Draco flinched, “She’s scary.”

Ginny rounded on Draco, “And you! If you try to embarrass him or tell ANYONE about this conversation I will make sure Hermione makes you beg on your knees in the Great Hall for the smallest crumb of affection. Am I making myself clear?”

Draco gulped, “As crystal.”

Hermione smiled and wished them good luck. Having Ginny around was definitely going to be helpful.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Molly and Narcissa were in the kitchen with Linna when Ginny and Hermione withdrew to the house. As long as the shed didn’t burst into flames they were confident nothing could go too badly wrong.

Arthur was sitting at the table and the conversation abruptly died when the two young witches entered.

“Not awkward at all,” Ginny pointed out with a smile, “What’s the big secret?”

Arthur cleared his throat and stared at the newspaper he had already read.

“Nothing important dear,” Molly replied, clearly lying, “Where is Ron? I haven’t seen him for hours.”

“Still sulking,” Hermione provided.

“’Nothing important’?” Ginny repeated, “You’re a terrible liar, mum.”

Narcissa patted Molly on the shoulder before turning to them.

“The hearings for Draco and myself have been moved up to tomorrow morning,” she provided, “An official from the Ministry will come over to harvest our memories or something equally unappealing.”

“Do they need to be informed about Draco’s Veela status?” Hermione wondered.

“Yes, mainly so that if there are any problems in the future they already have the information,” Narcissa confirmed, “If someone were to try to hurt you and Draco attacked or killed them, his status would need to be immediately available.”

Hermione was frowning at the idea that Draco would kill for her; she didn’t like having that sort of power over anyone.

“Why don’t you go talk to Ron?” Molly suggested, “Even bellowing and thumping around the house would be an improvement.”

“We can’t even go in his room anymore,” Ginny pointed out, “The silly ward thing stops us.”

Molly sighed, picked up her wand and marched upstairs to drop the spell temporarily. Ginny and Hermione followed and neither one mentioned that the wards didn’t work on Draco at all.

“Go away – oh, hi Mum,” Ron said, cringing as he realized who was at his door.

“I’ve lowered the ward so your sister and Hermione can hit you over the head with something heavy until you stop acting like a child,” Molly said with a frown, “If you don’t come down to dinner later I’ll assume they’ve killed you and buried you somewhere.”

“Love you too, Mum!” Ron called after her.

Ginny sat down on the end of his bed while Hermione sat cross-legged on the floor. Ron turned his back on them, clearly determined to ignore their presence.

“How about a role-play?” Ginny asked Hermione, “You can be yourself and I’ll be Ron.”

Hermione raised one eyebrow at the younger witch.

“I hate Draco!” Ginny announced, impersonating her brother very badly, “He is a bully, rich, good-looking and doesn’t have freckles. Even worse, the girl I love but don’t want to marry is starting to notice him. Life sucks.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “You don’t sound anything like Ron.”

“Play along!” Ginny admonished, “Let’s see; even though I know he was acting for the most part I can’t forgive him because I can’t imagine having a thought and not blurting it out.”

“Linna could do a better impersonation of me,” Ron complained.

“Then, turn around so no-one has to impersonate you,” Ginny demanded.

Ron rolled over reluctantly to glare at his sister.

“Why do you have to interfere?” he asked her flatly.

“Because, I know you,” Ginny replied simply, “You’re not really mad at Hermione or Draco; you’re worried that we’ll all pair off and you will be left alone and friendless.”

Hermione reached out to hold Ron’s hand, “And that would never happen.”

Ron turned his head to observe her, “It’s already happening.”

“Do you remember when you got with Lavender?” Hermione asked quietly.

Ron nodded. He couldn’t think about her without mourning that she was dead.

“I felt so left out, and so did Harry but we knew that once the excitement of a new relationship wore off, you’d be back. Nothing and no-one can come between the three of us,” Hermione explained, “Once we adjust to changes we meet again in the middle.”

“I envy the three of you too,” Ginny admitted, “You’ve been friends for so long, and have faced danger together. I came in later and know there is a piece of Harry I will never be able to understand.”

“I hate talking about _feelings_ ,” Ron grumbled.

Hermione sighed, “Fine; here’s the deal. If Draco says something insulting to you, feel free to reply. No wands. Whoever throws the first punch is going to be on the receiving end of a buttload of spells from me, Ginny and your mother. Is that clear?”

Ron blinked at her and appeared confused, “You’ve been spending too much time with mum,” he decided.

“Last chance, Ron,” Ginny threatened, “Agree to the terms or you’ll look like a completely self-absorbed child.”

“Fine,” Ron grumbled, “But if he pulls a wand on me all bets are off.”

He allowed the girls to nag him into leaving his room. He appeared relieved to see that Malfoy was no-where in sight once they reached the living room.

“Where’s Harry?” he wondered aloud.

Hermione and Ginny shared a short look of panic, “Around.”

“Do you want to fly for a while?” Ginny suggested.

Ron and Ginny fetched broomsticks while Hermione positioned herself so she could clearly see them in the air and also had an unobstructed view of the shed where Draco and Harry were.

Harry emerged soon after she was settled. Hermione waved to draw his attention. He approached slowly; with a shy smile she had seen before. He sat down next to her.

“I won’t say a word,” Hermione assured him, “Unless I need to be very angry at Draco?”

Harry shook his head, “It was awkward as hell but worth it, I guess.”

“Ginny has plans,” Hermione said with a sneaky smile, “I’ll try to keep Ron out of the way.”

Harry wasn’t blushing this time. He was watching his fiancée fly around in the sky with a speculative gleam in his eye.

“Thank-you,” Harry said sadly, “You know, Ron encouraged me to get with Ginny. Now that we’re not shy teenagers he is having regrets.”

“He will be fine,” Hermione assured him, “As long as he doesn’t have to SEE anything he can convince himself that she is virgin for the rest of his life.”

“This is really weird,” Harry said to his shoes, “Why are we talking about this? It was bad enough getting advice from your bloody stalker.”

Hermione patted his shoulder, “Ginny is my best friend. She’s going to give me a vague outline anyway.”

“Really? Why do girls do that?”

Hermione knew she would never be able to explain it properly, “She’ll tell me all the good things, so I look forward to a similar experience.”

“Even if I’m a fumbling fool?” Harry worried.

“Harry, don’t worry about performance; she really won’t care. Make her feel special and she will be ecstatic. Now, I am thoroughly embarrassed by this conversation so let’s change the subject.”

Harry nodded, “Um. Malfoy said his back was itchy.”

“Go get a broomstick,” Hermione encouraged, “I’ll go see if the dope has ripped his wounds again.”

“Feel free to make it painful,” Harry encouraged, “He used pictures.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione found Draco sitting next to his mother at the dining table. He looked particularly smug.

“Miss Granger,” Narcissa greeted with a smile, “My son is far too full of himself today. Are you here to wipe that conceited look off his face?”

“This is a conspiracy,” Draco complained, “Maybe I should ask to be adopted. Arthur, Molly; would you adopt me since my mother clearly doesn’t want me anymore?”

“I don’t think red hair would suit you,” Arthur replied.

Molly leaned over to ruffle his blonde hair, “Do we get Narcissa in the bargain?”

“Everyone is against me,” Draco sighed.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the silly banter, “Come on, I need to check your back.”

“Go on,” Narcissa encouraged, “If none of us can tolerate you, Miss Granger is your last chance. Perhaps she has the strength to put up with that smug expression.”

“I am mortally wounded,” Draco replied playfully as he stood up, “Death Eaters are nothing compared to this attack.”

The wounded puppy expression he wore did not sway his mother. Hermione didn’t realize what she was doing until her hand was held out in front of her.

Draco paused; all playfulness gone. He reached out and took her small hand in his larger one. The silence in the room attested to the serious step forward in their interactions.

“Lead the way,” Draco invited.

Narcissa smiled as Hermione smiled shyly at her son and led him from the room with their fingers entwined.

Hermione was too distracted by the large hand which gripped hers to realize what the flash of green light and puff of smoke meant.

Draco and Hermione reacted instinctively and had their wands out within seconds.

Hermione recognised George and relaxed. Draco remained tense.

George saw only an enemy with a wand raised in his own home.

“ _Stupefy!_ ” George spat.

Before the spell reached Draco he yelled, “ _Expelliarmus_!”

George felt his wand fly from his hand and watched in horror as his spell bounced off Malfoy and slammed into Hermione.

Draco caught her before she hit the ground. The thunderous growl he aimed over his shoulder as he clutched her limp body to his chest disturbed the adults in the kitchen.

“What the hell is going on?” George demanded. He retrieved his wand from where it had landed on the lounge.

Ginny burst into the house, having heard the brief duel. She saw George lift his wand toward Hermione, who was securely held in the arms of a very angry Veela.

“George, lower the wand and get over here,” Ginny hissed.

Draco hissed at the male who posed a threat to his mate. Wings exploded from his back and his fingers were tipped in claws which extended a full hand span past his fingertips.

George moved toward his sister and the pitch-black eyes which followed his progress promised death.

Ginny grabbed George by the arm and hauled him outside.

“Harry and Ron will explain!” Ginny said quickly, “Don’t come back inside until you’re told it’s safe.”

George watched Ginny disappear back into the house. Ron and Harry were running toward him.

“Why is Malfoy here?” George demanded of them, “Why did my spell bounce off that prat? Why does he have wings?!”


	20. Meeting George

Draco had moved to the corner lounge and Hermione was held in his lap. His wings arched up above the furniture, their grey colouring oddly alluring.

Narcissa had taken a few steps into the room before stopping.

Ginny kept her movements slow and non-threatening. Draco turned to watch her with eyes which remained black and clearly not human.

“Draco,” Ginny said firmly, “Is Hermione hurt?”

Draco looked at the redhead and something in him was sure she was not a threat. He ran his hand over the hair of the precious creature in his lap. His claws were slowly shrinking back to normal fingers.

“Hermione?” he whispered. His voice was deeper than normal, and he could hear the inhuman tones in it.

Hermione felt the warm breath against her cheek and somehow knew that she was perfectly safe before her eyes fluttered open.

“Are you injured?”

He was so close, and his eyes were so black. Logically she should have been desperate to get away from him, but she instinctively knew what to do.

Draco watched her survey him calmly and tuck her head under his chin. Her arms circled his torso and held him firmly.

“I’m not hurt,” Hermione reassured him, “There is no threat.”

Draco pressed his cheek against the top of her head and left his palms on her back. She let her words wash over him and felt his hands return to normal. She was safe, there was no danger. His grey wings withered away.

The adrenalin from the confrontation slowly abated. As long as he was able to feel her body against his there was no desire to stand up, talk or seek out the male whose spell had ricocheted into her.

Ginny watched them cling to each other with a growing curiosity. Draco was clearly acting on instinct and she looked toward to quizzing Hermione on her reactions to him.

Narcissa blinked away the tears gathering in her eyes. Draco had fought so hard for the witch he wanted; seeing him cuddled up to her and content for once made her so proud. Behind her, the newcomer was entering the kitchen with Mr Potter and the youngest Mr Weasley.

“George!” Molly cried, “Of course; it’s Friday. Oh dear, I’m so sorry I didn’t warn you that Narcissa and Draco are staying with us.”

Ginny crossed the room slowly and Narcissa allowed the young witch to guide her back into the kitchen.

“Is Hermione alright?” George demanded of his sister, “I wasn’t aiming for her at all; it bounced off Malfoy!”

“Did you two explain?” Ginny demanded of Ron and Harry.

“Sort of,” Harry said with a shrug.

“They said he’s a Veela and obsessed with Hermione,” George said dismissively, “I thought they’d been smoking something they found in the swamp.”

Ginny took charge while Molly admired her daughter. Within minutes she had everyone seated and Linna was serving cups of tea. She summarised the events of the previous two days with some help from Narcissa.

“You’re shitting me?” George said in disbelief, “That prat took the Dark Mark for Hermione?”

Ginny nodded, “We all saw the memory; he argued with Voldemort for her.”

“Slimy little git,” George muttered, “I don’t like this; can’t he stay a one-dimensional evil prat so we can hate him in peace?”

Molly frowned at her son, “Life is rarely simple, George.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione was content to remain cuddled up to Draco. There was nothing sexual about the embrace; it was simply comfort and safety.

She could hear the murmur of voices of the people conversing in the kitchen, yet she really didn’t care what they were saying.

The small tendril of concern which began to grow was strange and not her own. She knew she had to be feeling the edge of her Veelas’ emotions, which was odd yet not unwelcome.

“No need to worry,” she said quietly.

“They’re talking about us,” Draco replied.

“Can you make out the words? I just hear mumbling.”

“Enhanced senses,” he explained, “Weaslette is doing most of the talking. Potter and Weasley keep interrupting.”

“If Ron is ‘Weasley’ does George get a nickname?”

Draco’s first thought was ‘surviving twin’ but even he knew that was not polite.

“How about ‘Short Weasley’?” he suggested. George was the shortest of all his brothers and only slightly taller than Ginny.

“Or you could call him ‘George’?” Hermione pointed out.

“Too obvious.”

Hermione realized that he was leaning back on the lounge without a thought for the wound on his back.

“Are you in pain?” she asked quickly, “I hope you haven’t ripped those cuts open again.”

“I really don’t care,” Draco replied honestly.

“Well I do,” Hermione replied sharply, “If it gets ripped open again I’ll have to assume you’re doing it on purpose to get my attention.”

“Maybe I asked the Death Eaters to carve me up so I could experience your lovely bedside manner?” he teased.

“Were you always this sarcastic?” Hermione asked as she pulled out of his grasp.

“Yep.”

She found the vial to treat his back with and studied him critically, “I remember ‘Arrogant Prat’ and ‘Sneaky Bastard’ but the ‘Sarcastic Turd’ wasn’t spotted at Hogwarts.”

Draco smirked at her, an expression which was very familiar, “I guess I saved the best until last.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, “Turn around. I’m sure Linna will demand that shirt to be washed soon too.”

“Not until after dinner,” Draco decided, “I’m not going to be responsible for Weasley puking all over the dining table.”

Ginny entered the room cautiously while Hermione complained about the state of the wound.

“Is it safe to approach?” Ginny asked.

“Yes,” Hermione replied as she kept her eyes on her task, “If he is any trouble I’ll take his shirt.”

“Hey,” Draco complained, “Just because you like the view -”

“Shut it Malfoy!” Hermione snapped while a blush appeared on her cheeks, “You left bloodstains on the lounge.”

Draco twisted to see where his back had been, “Shit.”

“Considering you spouted wings. I’m surprised there aren’t blood splatter marks all over the walls,” Hermione continued, “How come your body can manifest wings, but your scars are still there?”

Draco shrugged.

“George wants to apologize for the spell,” Ginny announced as she dragged her brother forward. He was clearly reluctant to approach the Veela.

“Sorry about that,” George managed, “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I understand,” Draco grunted as Hermione plucked a fibre out of the wound, “Ow! Are you extracting a rib or something?”

“Stay still!” she ordered, “I’ll put a silencing charm on you if you keep whining.”

George was rapidly losing his apprehension as he watched Hermione boss Malfoy around. He edged closer so he could see what Hermione was doing. The mangled mess of blood and flesh made him cringe.

“Death Eaters,” Hermione offered before he could ask.

“Welcome to the club then Blood Traitor,” George tried to joke, “I think the red hair is a better calling card, but to each their own.”

“Stubborn bastards, the lot of them,” Draco replied, “Why can’t they just flee the country and hide like the rats they are?”

“I suspect they believe their own bullshit,” Ginny replied, “They joined the cult and are refusing to accept that it’s over.”

“Bunch of arseholes,” Draco growled, “To be forced to be a bastard is bad enough; they’re choosing it.”

“Didn’t you kind of choose it to protect Hermione?” Ginny asked gently.

Draco snorted, “The Dark Psycho threatened to torture my mother long before he found out about Hermione. He even-”

Draco shook his head, unable to form the words. Hermione finished working on his back and handed the vial to Ginny to put away.

“You can talk about it,” Hermione encouraged gently, “If you need to.”

Draco pushed himself to his feet silently. He couldn’t stop his hand from touching Hermione’s hair while she was so close.

“Not now,” was all he could reply.

“Well, since we’re all friends now, Mum wants us all present for dinner so we can watch her fuss over the House Elf,” George said, “I’m beginning to wonder if she wants to trade one of us to keep her.”

“Her name is Linna,” Hermione said pointedly.

“I’d trade you for any House Elf,” Ginny told her brother with a grin. She held out her hand to draw his attention to the engagement ring.

“Holy Merlin’s balls!” George cried, “Who stuck a tennis ball on your hand?”

“Harry proposed this morning!” Ginny announced excitedly.

“After he was found in her bed half-naked,” Draco chuckled. Hermione stuck her elbow in his gut.

“Bloody hell, woman!” Draco growled, “You’re torturing the patient.”

“You had a half-naked man in your bed?” George demanded of his sister. Suddenly the cheerful young man was deadly serious.

“HARRY!” Ginny yelled as she ran toward the kitchen, “RUN!”

Draco laughed as Potter leaped out of his chair and raced out the door, chased by another Weasley brother. Ginny hesitated in the kitchen, clearly wondering if interfering would cause more trouble than necessary.

“Are they always this entertaining?” Draco asked Hermione. He allowed his hand to rest on the small of her back as he walked with her toward the dining table.

“Usually, yes,” she replied, “It’s been hard since Fred passed; this is the first time I’ve heard George try to joke since the war.”

“Will this happen every time another brother shows up?” Draco asked.

Hermione giggled, “Well we only have Charlie and Percy to go. Percy will probably lecture both of them about appropriate behaviour or something equally pompous. I’m looking forward to Charlie finding out.”

Draco raised an eyebrow at her, “What’s so special about Charlie?”

Hermione glanced out the window to see if she could spot Harry or George, “Charlie trains dragons for a living; Harry won’t be able to outrun him.”

Narcissa smiled at the young witch who had captivated her son. She pulled out the chair next to her as an invitation.

“Bloody git!” Ginny cried. She launched herself out the door.

Draco sat down next to Hermione and watched the spectacle outside with amusement. George had Harry in a headlock while Ron looked on and laughed.

Even to her brothers, Ginny was not one to be messed with. As soon as she pulled out her wand George dropped her fiancée and held up his hands.

“You have clever sons, Molly,” Narcissa mused, “They have all learned not to mess with their sister. Hopefully, they extend the lesson to all females.”

“I’m sure they do,” Molly said with a smile, “Assuming they want to live long, happy lives.”

“Sunday lunch will be interesting,” Hermione said with a smile, “I keep wondering if Charlie will grab Harry and tie him to the tail of a Hungarian Horntail when he finds out about this morning.”

“I’d pay to see that,” Draco laughed.

“You might want to tread carefully around Charlie,” Molly said directly to Draco, “He considers Hermione to be a sister too. He knows Ginny can be a firecracker when riled up whereas Hermione is much more reserved. Whatever he does to Harry, expect him to do much worse to you.”  
Draco nodded as though he was slightly threatened, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

After facing Voldemort, he was not worried about a protective older brother. He would be interested to find out how Hermione would react to interference from any well-meaning Weasley.

George and Ron re-entered the house together. The older brother was dusting off his hands as though he had just dispensed with a rival.

“After a few more rounds of negotiation, I’ll get Harry to agree to post-pone the consummation until Ginny is twenty-five,” he announced proudly.

“Good luck with that George,” Hermione laughed, “She plans to play professional Quidditch and have her first baby at twenty-one.”

“Virgin births are not the strangest thing in the world,” George mused, “I mean, look at Malfoy. We were sure he was going to end up as slimy as his father and here he is still breathing and not even tied up.”

Potter was glaring at George when Ginny pushed him through the door, “You messed my hair up again George,” he complained.

Draco smirked at Potter, “When is your hair not a mess?”

Ginny glared at Draco, “No-one asked you.”


	21. The Power of Memories

Dinner was interesting, to say the least. Ginny was telling Hermione about her plan to have a child every five years or so and convince Potter to stay home to be a house-husband.

Draco smiled into his potatoes when Potter made an odd choking noise and groped for his glass of juice, “How many kids are you planning for?” the worried fiancée asked.

Ginny shrugged, “If we have the first at about twenty-one then we can plan for four or five. I’d take the year off playing and then return afterwards; they’re very good about having breast-feeding mothers on the roster. I want to play until my mid-thirties and then take up coaching.”

“Harry always spoke of being an Auror,” Hermione said to Ginny, “How would that fit in?”

“We’d love to babysit,” Molly offered with a wide smile, “Wouldn’t we Arthur?”

“Of course.”

“Five kids,” Potter mused, “ _Five_.”

“Unless there are multiple births,” Ron added through a mouthful of food, “Twins run in the family, obviously.”

George frowned at his plate at the mention of his brother. Draco wished he had some knowledge of how to help; his specialty had always been in keeping people at a distance instead.

“Maybe once I retire I’ll want more,” Ginny mused, “Or maybe I’ll have one and decide never again.”

“Like mum did with you?” Ron asked with a smile, “All those years wanting a girl and then you came along, and she wished she’d stopped at six.”

“Ron’s just bitter,” Ginny confided to Draco and Narcissa, “I got his share of looks and talent.”

Draco chuckled into his juice while Ron rolled his eyes. Narcissa was watching the interactions with a wishful smile; Draco had never seen her look so content.

“So, Malfoy,” George began seriously, “What are your intentions towards Hermione?”

Ginny and Ron were smirking at each other while Hermione glared at their older brother.

“Well, George, my intention is to avoid being punched in the face again,” Draco said in a similarly grave tone, “So I wouldn’t dare talk about her as though she wasn’t right next to me.”

“You’re boring,” George decided dismissively, “Alright Miss Granger; what are your intentions toward Malfoy? If he ends up pregnant there will be hell to pay.”

Ron was laughing into his food again. Ginny had her face pressed into Harry’s shoulder to hide her giggles.

“Well,” Hermione began, “If Draco falls pregnant we will name the baby after you and sell it at your store. How does that sound?”

“Not very profitable,” George decided.

“But rather entertaining,” Narcissa mused, “I am curious about any plans the two of you have made. Draco has been very unco-operative when I press him for details.”

Draco suppressed the surge of irritation he felt, “It’s been two days Mother,” he said icily, “There are no plans.”

“Which means you have three hundred and sixty-three days left,” Narcissa pointed out, “And you’ll be nearly insane if you leave it until the last quarter.”

“Stop,” Draco ordered, “Just stop.”

“Insane?” George repeated, “What am I missing? Does the Veela thing make him mental because that would explain a lot.”

“Draco will die on his next birthday if the bond with his mate is not finalised,” Narcissa said calmly, “I suspect he has yet to tell Miss Granger what other side-effects will crop up before then.”

Draco slammed his palm down on the table, causing most of those seated to jump, “This is none of your concern Mother. Your interference is not necessary or welcome.”

Narcissa raised one eyebrow at him, “So have you explained to your mate what will change after three months?”

Hermione was the one to reply, “No, and I trust he will when he is sure I have adjusted to the idea. Two days is not enough time to let go of seven years of false impressions.”

Narcissa nodded at her, “As you wish.”

“If you’ll excuse me,” Draco grunted. He got up to leave the table while multiple sets of eyes watched him.

“Our trials have been moved up to tomorrow,” Narcissa added, “Ministry officials will be here to read our minds and take statements at nine in the morning.”

Draco paused near the doorway, “You could have just stated that rather than using other issues to soften the blow.”

“I know you Draco; you will sacrifice your own health without a second thought,” Narcissa replied sternly, “Without witnesses, you would simply ignore me.”

Draco left the room before he could say something he would regret. George cleared his throat.

“Well that was interesting,” he said with a false smile, “What’s for dessert?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione left the table while everyone else was still eating dessert. She loved Ron but seeing him shovel enough ice-cream into his mouth to bury a hive of gnomes did nothing for her appetite.

Draco wasn’t in the living room, so she headed upstairs to track down where he was hiding. The light to the room she shared with Ginny had been illuminated.

Draco sat on her bed hugging her pillow to his chest. She had never seen him look so lost. She was trying to come up with something to say when he noticed her presence.

“Sorry,” Draco sighed, “I needed to smell you. Apparently when stressed your scent is the only thing that can soothe me.”

He lowered her pillow back onto the bed. He had not been able to resist the impulse to seek out her scent he was embarrassed by it.

Hermione sat down next to him and reached out to rest her hand on his.

“I’m not going to pretend this isn’t weird and pretty overwhelming,” she said thoughtfully, “It is, for both of us. I can see that you’re doing everything you can to try to make this easier for me and I appreciate that.”

“It’s only been a few hours,” Draco whispered, “And I’m already struggling to keep my hands off you.”

Hermione looked down at the hand she held and noticed his fingers were twitching. The idea that she was so enthralling was obviously flattering and the anxiety she felt could almost be mistaken as anticipation.

“Come spend some time with us,” Hermione invited, “There’s a Muggle board game which can take hours to finish. You can sit next to me and smell my hair as much as you want while I play.”

Draco nodded thoughtfully, “Alright, but I don’t want to sit next to Weasley.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at the childish comment. She strongly suspected that his dislike of Ron stemmed from the almost-relationship they had maintained for years.

Ginny had already pulled out the Monopoly board and claimed the dog figurine.

“Racecar!” Weasley claimed as he landed on the floor next to his sister with a thump.

“I’m not the banker this time,” Hermione decided as she approached the board. Draco ignored the annoyed expression Weasley threw in his direction.

Hermione sat cross-legged next to Ginny. Potter sat down at the fourth side of the board.

“Are you playing Malfoy?” Potter asked gruffly. Clearly he was making an effort, for some reason. Draco watched Weaslette smile encouragingly at her fiancée and knew who was pulling his strings.

“I’ll just watch,” Draco replied, “It looks complicated.”

“You can be the Banker,” Ginny decided. She patted the space between herself and Hermione.

Draco sat down and watched with interest as Potter pulled out a stack of cards and started laying them in groups. The ‘bank’ was pushed his way.

Ginny instructed him on how many notes to give to each player. Hermione arranged her coloured notes in front of her section of the board in neat piles. Weasley took the paper money from him with a frown and ended up with a messy stack of paper in front of his ankles.

“The gaol doesn’t look very intimidating,” Draco commented.

“It’s not a punishment, just bad luck,” Ginny added, “So it’s only fifty dollars to escape.”

Potter started by rolling the dice. Hermione and Ginny explained the rules as they were going, while Potter pointed out which rules were not in the rulebook at all. Apparently if all players agreed new rules were instituted.

Throughout the following hour Weasley didn’t say a word. He collected and handed out the paper money silently. Draco could almost feel the hostility oozing off of him like a noxious cloud.

He leaned into Hermione instinctively until his chin was almost resting on her shoulder.

“Get off her, Malfoy,” Weasley suddenly spat.

Hermione stiffened and glanced over at Draco.

“He wasn’t even touching me Ron,” Hermione said quietly.

“How can you stand him being so close?” Ron demanded.

Molly, Arthur, Narcissa and George abandoned their conversations to watch the spectacle developing.

“Ron, please don’t so this,” Hermione pleaded.

“Maybe half of what he did can be explained away by trying to protect you!” Ron insisted, “What about the rest? When the Chamber of Secrets was opened he declared he wanted you to die; no twelve-year-old is that good at acting.”

“Weasley, have you ever been thrown into a cold, dark dungeon by your own father?” Draco asked in a deadly voice, “Or been left there for a full two days because you dared to say that muggle-borns weren’t dirty? I was barely twelve years old then, too.”

“You let Death Eaters into Hogwarts!” Ron growled, “How were you protecting anyone then?”

“I was scared!” Draco spat. Hermione could hear the emotion in his voice even if no-one else could.

“Do you know what Voldemort did to make me take that mission?” Draco continued shakily, “He dragged in a Muggle and let the sickest Death Eaters rape her repeatedly. I had to watch and listen to her scream and beg for mercy. By the time they had finished she was covered in blood and couldn’t even stand up. Then he invited Greyback to have some fun.”

Hermione slipped her arm around his shoulders and squeezed his far shoulder. He did not take his eyes off Ron who met his gaze with fading righteousness.

“Greyback raped her, bit her and clawed her to shreds all at the same time. When she was finally dead Voldemort turned to me and said if I didn’t kill Dumbledore it would first be my mother on the floor, and then he would bring in Hermione and _Imperius_ me to torture her the same way.”

Draco pulled Hermione into his lap and buried his face in the crook of her neck. She could feel him trembling.

“I cannot begin to describe the horrors we were forced to witness in that house,” Narcissa said from behind the group, “Greyback will haunt my nightmares until the day I die. Riddle used me as a hostage to ensure Lucius and Draco cooperated and he threatened Draco to ensure my obedience. I wish I had been brave enough to embrace death instead.”

“I was scared from the moment the wedding was attacked, right up until Harry killed that bastard,” Ron replied, “My whole family was in danger; Fred died.”

Draco clung to Hermione in a desperate attempt to calm himself. He wondered if he was hallucinating when he heard Potter speak.

“Just the sight of Voldemort was terrifying,” Potter said, “To have to live with him, watch him torture people, watch that snake eat people while they were still alive and go to sleep knowing he was a few rooms away is horrible to even contemplate.”

“I’d rather die a fast death than live like that,” Ginny admitted.

“We all did what we could,” Molly said sadly, “Ronald, you don’t have to be friends with Draco or even like him. I do hope that one day you can accept that he was trapped in an awful situation and did what he had to in order to protect his mother and Hermione.”

“Just, don’t ever hurt her Malfoy,” Ron grumbled.

Draco looked up from Hermione to meet the gaze of her friend, “If I do, I deserve another punch in the face.”

“It’s your turn Ron,” Ginny encouraged.


	22. Late Night Discussions

Potter won the game eventually. Draco liked the idea of accumulating properties and having to make deals with other players to gain power. The tiny little houses and motels were odd, but that was to be expected in a Muggle game.

Ginny offered to sit out the following evening so he could play. He thanked her for the offer, yet he suspected cuddling up to Hermione was more than enough to keep him entertained.

As the winner of the game of Monopoly, Potter had to pack the various components away in the box. Ron offered to help.

Molly, Arthur and Narcissa retired to bed not long after George left through the fireplace. He made a point of shaking hands with Draco before he disappeared.

Draco had known of the twins while at school, and the memory of saying awful things on the Quidditch pitch would not leave him alone. He was glad that no-one brought that up. Ron still remained the most annoying Weasley he had met, which was a relief. He wasn’t sure if anyone could annoy him more than the youngest brother.

Ginny offered to make some hot chocolate, which Hermione and Draco accepted. He noticed Potter tuck the box away and then mumble something to Weasley. Rather than join them in the kitchen they headed upstairs. Didn’t they have the manners to at least bid the women ‘good night’ first?

“Ron and Harry have already retreated,” Ginny explained when Hermione wondered if they wanted a drink too, “Ron needs time to process what you said, Draco.”

Draco nodded and regretted his earlier outburst. Giving knowledge away was always a stupid thing to do.

“We need to find someone to set him up with,” Hermione mused, “Do you know anyone Ginny?”

Ginny smiled, “I could set him up with Luna.”

Hermione shook her head, “I love Luna, but Ron looks at her like she’s nuts, even when she makes perfect sense.”

Draco regarded the two witches and a very bad idea presented itself. Bloody Gryffindors and their nosy attitudes. He was considering going out of his way to be nice to the most annoying Gryffindor he knew, and the very idea unsettled him.

“I know someone who has had the hots for Weasley since Fifth Year,” Draco admitted, “If I manage to avoid being sent to Azkaban I could contact her.”

Ginny nodded, “Definitely a ‘her’?”

Hermione giggled, “Ginny, don’t be mean.”

Draco snorted, “You two are weird. I’m facing life in Azkaban and you two are worried I’d set Ron up with a guy.”

“You won’t go to Azkaban,” Ginny said to him, “You were underage and badly coerced. Did you kill many people?”

Draco froze at the blunt question, “No. I was forced to torture some people, but I could never kill anyone.”

“So, your biggest crime once coming of age was using the Cruciatus curse under the threat of death?” Ginny pressed.

Draco nodded.

“They can’t lock you up then,” Hermione declared.

“If they try to lock you up Harry, Ron and Hermione will lead the riot to free you,” Ginny added.

“I doubt Weasley would try to help.”

Hermione smiled, “He would if he knew there was a girl waiting to be set up with him.”

Something warm expanded within his chest. He envied Potter and Weasley for having friends as loyal as the two women in front of him. If he really was pardoned, he hoped he could consider them his friends one day.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco had been allocated the empty room which had belonged to Charlie. Even if he hadn’t been told of the occupation of the brother in question, he would have guessed it from the posters on the walls. Rather than Quidditch players and attractive witches, the room was plastered with pictures of dragons. He wondered if he was going to have nightmares about being chased by a scaly beast.

He closed his eyes and tried to relax. Sadly, being attacked by dragons would be an improvement on the nightmares he experienced.

The scream which echoed through the house jerked him out of sleep a few hours later. Memories of waking up to the screams of torture victims haunted him before he realized he was not at the Manor and Voldemort was dead. He threw off the blanket and rushed toward the source of the noise instinctively. The barrier in the doorway impeded his progress for a full second before releasing him.

Hermione thrashed on her bed in the grips of a nightmare. Ginny was sitting up and waving her wand around uselessly.

Draco caught Hermione’s hands in his own, “Wake up Hermione,” he pleaded, “It’s not real; you’re safe.”

Hermione clung to the warm touch and wrenched herself out of the terror she was seeing. The screams abruptly ceased. She lunged forward to wrap herself around Draco before she realized what was happening. Something in her recognised that he represented safety.

Draco twisted so he had his back to the bed. He shifted the leg which was nearly wrapped around him so he could hold her across his lap instead. He did not want to embarrass her by having her straddle him in her traumatised state.

Hermione heard the soothing words he whispered and leaned into the hand stroking her hair. Images of Bellatrix faded slowly as her mind accepted that the evil witch was dead and no longer a threat.

Ginny sat on her bed watching the two of them. The blonde had reacted inhumanly fast to the screams. Even in her addled state, Hermione clung to him intimately.

Molly and Arthur climbed the stairs as they had so many nights since the war had ended. Between the four young survivors in the house there was always at least one scream breaking the silence each night.

“How did you get through the wards?” Molly asked in surprise as the sight of Hermione cuddled up to Draco penetrated her tired brain.

“They don’t work on Veela apparently,” Ginny replied with a yawn, “Harry can’t get in, though.”

“Well that’s good at least,” Arthur mused, “We don’t want you getting started on those five children too early.”

Behind the parents Ron started laughing. Next to him Harry was blushing furiously.

“As if, Dad,” Ginny replied while rolling her eyes, “Twenty-one, remember.”

Arthur shook his head at her, “I prefer the plan where you remain a virgin until you’re twenty-five.”

“Go away,” Ginny complained, “Mum was only just twenty-one when Bill was born so my plan is perfectly acceptable.”

“Well Darling,” Arthur said casually, “Since everything is perfectly acceptable here, perhaps we should return to bed?”

Molly was still frowning at Draco, “Would anyone like some hot chocolate?”

“I’ll make it,” Ginny volunteered, “Come on guys, mum won’t leave until Draco is out of the girls’ room. She probably already planning stronger wards to put on the door.”

Draco quietly asked Hermione if she wanted to go back to sleep or join them in the kitchen. The nightmare had been banished but she was sure it was waiting to re-emerge if she fell back to sleep.

Hermione led the way down to the kitchen. Molly and Arthur returned to bed while Draco and Ginny headed downstairs. Ron and Harry hesitated before the lure of hot chocolate drew them.

“I’m fine, now,” Hermione insisted to Draco as he hovered worriedly.

Ron snorted, “None of us are ‘fine’ Hermione. We’re just coping as best we can.”

Draco sat down next to his mate, “He is usually pretty dopey, but every now and then Weasley says something profound.”

Ron glared at Malfoy, “I’d prefer to be dopey than an arsehole,” he spat.

“Not now Ron,” Ginny sighed. The glare she levelled at her brother was eerily similar to the one her mother aimed at irritating children.

“I’ll allow ‘prat’ or ‘git’,” Draco conceded to the redhead who was still glaring at him, “Or ‘ferret’ if you really like that one.”

Ron nearly smiled at that, “Alright, Ferret.”

“I hope you two never really get along,” Ginny decided as Linna presented the group with hot chocolate, “You’d get bored.”

“Or gang up on someone else,” Hermione added.

“There’s no-one more annoying than Malfoy,” Ron scoffed, “Since Umbridge bogged off, anyway.”

“You know, I lived with Voldemort and I still think Umbridge was creepy,” Draco mused, “Pink lace and cats all over the place? Yuk.” He shuddered.

“I had a cat,” Hermione said sadly, “He ran off after Dumbledore’s funeral.”

Draco tried not to show the guilt which welled up at the mention of a mess he was responsible for.

“He’s probably out knocking up every female cat in Scotland,” Harry said to Hermione kindly, “We’ll probably find Hogwarts overrun by ugly, flat-faced kittens who shed all over the place.”

Hermione laughed even as she punched Harry in the shoulder, “He was not ugly.”

Weasley snorted, “He seriously was.”

Ginny was nodding. Draco had never seen the animal up close, so he had to believe the majority opinion.

“Actually Weasley, I have a serious question for you,” Draco said hesitantly.

Weasley frowned at him, “Ask away.”

“I know a girl who has a thing for you,” Draco said, “I am sure she would be very interested in spending some time with you. If I set something up will you refrain from calling me ‘Ferret’?”

Weasley watched his childhood nemesis through narrowed eyes, “’Prat’ and ‘Git’ would still be acceptable though right?”

“Sure.”

“Hmmm,” Weasley mused, “I’m sure she’s nice but I’m not interested in Millicent Bulstrode.”

Ginny and Hermione smiled at each other. Potter watched the exchange worriedly.

“It’s not Millicent,” Draco said, “Besides, you’re not Millie’s type.”

“I’m not?” Weasley wondered, “What a relief.”

Draco drummed his fingers on the tabletop, “Put it this way; Millie would be more interested in taking Ginny or Hermione out on a date.”

Ginny, Hermione and Potter were giggling for a full two seconds before Weasley understood what had been revealed. Draco had no idea how Weasley managed to get through the day without being hung from a tree by his ankles.

“So, who is this girl? Is she in our year or are you trying to set me up with a twelve-year-old?” Weasley asked suspiciously.

“Are you always this paranoid?” Draco demanded, “I always knew you were annoying. Somehow this is worse.”

“It would be just like you to pretend to do something nice just to embarrass the hell out of me,” Weasley muttered.

“Hermione would kick my arse,” Draco replied.

The witch in question nodded, “I would.”

“As would I,” Ginny added.

Potter was clearly intrigued by the idea Draco was presenting, “One of the Slytherin girls likes Ron?”

“No hints,” Draco said directly to Weasley, “Do you want me to contact her or not?”

Weasley shrugged, “Sure. If you don’t end up in Azkaban we can also go on a triple-date.”

“Wow, that sounds like fun,” Ginny said with a smile, “Do you want to invite Rita Skeeter along to make it even more weird?”

“Seriously, you’d all have to come too,” Weasley insisted to his sister, Potter and Hermione, “I’m not going out with a Slytherin without company. How embarrassing would it be to survive the bloody war only to be offed by a girl with a grudge?”

“Send the letter,” Ginny ordered Draco, “I’ll make sure he goes on the date even if I have to tie him up and drag him there.”

“I knew you lot were kinky,” Draco said with a nod, “Does she tie you up often, Potter?”

“I wish,” Potter muttered.

Draco barked out a laugh at the shockingly honest response. He had never realized how entertaining Gryffindors could be.

“That’s just awful!” Weasley complained, “I don’t even want to think of my sister and my best friend like that. Just ew.”

“Seconded,” Hermione added.

Ginny leaned over to whisper in the ear of her fiancée. He blushed a deep scarlet a few seconds later.

“So, if the girl in question owns some furry handcuffs you wouldn’t want to know?” Draco asked innocently.


	23. Gathering Evidence

Draco and Narcissa sat in the living room silently. The representative from the Ministry was due to arrive at any second.

“I can’t wait for this to be over,” Draco muttered. He was hunched over and clearly very anxious.

“I know,” Narcissa agreed quietly, “Yet, I am glad we are here, and your Father is not.”

Draco shuddered as he contemplated the idea of Lucius with them, glaring at anyone who said anything with a sneer and clear disdain for the process.

Arthur arrived through the fireplace with a smile. Moments later a short wizard blinked at them from behind his glasses.

“This is Narcissa Malfoy,” Arthur introduced when Narcissa stood up and held out her hand, “Narcissa, this is Mitchell Andrews from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

“And this is Draco Malfoy,” Arthur continued when Narcissa stepped back and Draco stepped forward. They shook hands briefly.

“Rather than a lengthy interrogation, the plan is to copy your memories and then analyse them with a team at the Ministry,” Mitchel said, clearly having made this speech a few times already, “We will specifically look for memories of the use of the Unforgivable Curses, the motivations behind any use of the restricted curses and then further Death Eater activity.”

The official pulled out two scrolls and presented one to each Malfoy.

“I need you to sign your consent to this process. Once analysed, any relevant memories will be used to decide if consequences are necessary of if previous actions were justified. After the verdict is decided your memories will be stored in the Department of Mysteries and never accessed again while you live without your permission.”

Narcissa signed her name immediately. Draco accepted the pen she offered and signed his too.

“Very good,” the official said, tucking the paperwork away. He held out a box to Narcissa.

“Hold this please.”

Narcissa held the box for a full eight seconds before the box hummed.

“Thank-you. Your turn Mr Malfoy.”

Draco felt a tingle pass through his arms. He counted to twelve before the box hummed.

“Thank-you. Mrs Malfoy, here is your written permission to move to the residence of Andromeda Tonks. You are free to leave the premises, though in the interests of safety I would remain put until Lucius Malfoy is apprehended.”

Narcissa thanked the official, who blushed. Though nearly forty, she was still an attractive witch.

“Mr Malfoy, you are required to remain here under the supervision of Arthur Weasley until you return to Hogwarts. Do you have any further questions?”

“Yes,” Narcissa replied, “Are witches or wizards required to alert the Ministry of the activation of the Veela gene? I have never been able to figure out which department needs to be involved.”

Mitchell Andrews was clearly surprised, “Yes, my department has a Veela section. Who is the Veela in question? I understand that there are no females of the relevant age in the Black or Malfoy families.”

“I am the Veela,” Draco said flatly, “I transitioned yesterday.”

The official gaped at him, “A male Veela? Well, I will pass the information on right away! You have made history Mr Malfoy; it has been over a thousand years since England registered a male Veela.”

“Thanks,” Draco muttered.

“I believe the Council of Veela will be notified of your existence too; your details will remain private. Any communications they wish to send will be channelled through the Ministry.”

“I assume confidentiality will apply?” Narcissa asked, touching Mitchell’s arm, “I’d hate for Draco to be confronted by a legion of journalists when he returns to school.”

“Of course, Mrs Malfoy,” Mitchell replied. Draco had to work very hard to hold back the laughter bubbling up in his chest.

Arthur spoke quietly to the official before he left. Draco sat down and watched his mother with a smirk.

“Yes Draco?” Narcissa enquired.

“You were flirting,” Draco replied.

Narcissa assumed an expression of surprise, “Flirting? Never; I’m a married woman.”

“Married to a bastard,” Draco snorted, “I’m not disapproving, believe me.”

“He may be a bastard, but he is my husband and your father,” Narcissa replied regally.

“Well if it wasn’t for the curse on the wedding ring, I’d encourage you to look elsewhere,” Draco admitted, “You deserve better.”

“I was not flirting.”

“Arthur, was Mr Andrews rather smitten with my mother?” Draco asked.

Arthur glanced at Narcissa with a smile, “He did seem rather taken.”

“I was _not_ flirting,” Narcissa insisted.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Half an hour?” Draco pleaded.

Hermione stood at the edge of the rough area the Weasley family used as a Quidditch pitch. Her arms were crossed across her chest and she was glaring at the idiot who stood in front of her holding a broom.

“You haven’t even had three days to heal!” Hermione hissed, “Put that bloody broom away right now.”

She was so cute when she was angry. The image of a tiny kitten hissing and spitting at a large dog appeared clearly in his mind.

“I’m bored,” Draco pleaded, “Sitting around reading is driving me insane! I can’t go out and I need to clear my head after having my brain copied and taken to the Ministry to be dissected. Please!”

Hermione felt her resolve waver when he dropped the ‘please’. He was still acting like a moron of course.

“Has your mother approved this stupid idea?”

Draco shifted from one foot to the other, “I didn’t ask her. I’m an adult -”

“Yet you appear to have the common sense of an eight-year-old,” Hermione interrupted.

Draco just stared at her, desperately wishing he could figure out how to use his Veela power to sway her opinion.

“I’ll be in the air,” Draco insisted, “I won’t be in any danger.”

“Have you even seen how bad your back is?”

“You can’t stop me, Hermione,” Draco spat.

Hermione recognised the insufferable git he had been in his youth, “You know what Draco? Do what you like. If you hurt yourself, I’m going to sit back and let you suffer.”

Hermione brushed past him and stomped into the house without glancing back.

Draco watched her leave with mounting guilt. He hated upsetting her, but he desperately wanted to spend some time on the broom.

“You coming, Malfoy?” Weasley called, “You can be on Ginny’s team.”

Draco mounted the broom and soared into the air.

Hermione watched him leave the ground while muttering about stubborn, idiotic males.

“Hermione?” Narcissa called from the living room.

Glad for the distraction, Hermione wandered in to see the blonde sitting next to a trunk. She planned to stay with Andromeda so Draco could ‘woo’ without his mother in the next room.

“You sound frustrated dear, what has my son done now?”

Hermione threw herself down on the lounge with a huff, “He’s out on a broom.”

Narcissa frowned, “His back is barely scabbed over.”

“I know! That’s what I said. He made some childish excuses and went flying anyway.”

Narcissa sat back and studied Hermione in her frustration. Though the younger witch was clearly unhappy, Narcissa was encouraged to see how much she cared about Draco already.

“Sometimes men are simply foolish,” Narcissa offered, “I tried to talk Lucius out of following Voldemort and was ignored. The amount of fights we got into over it was ridiculous.”

“If they listened the first time, it wouldn’t be nagging,” Hermione muttered.

“Draco was quite anxious about the meeting this morning,” Narcissa said thoughtfully, “He will remain so until the verdict is decided. He has been on his best behaviour for the most part so when he annoys you or upsets you don’t hesitate to tell him.”

Hermione blinked at the older witch, realizing that her time with Draco had been surprisingly pleasant. She didn’t want to break the fragile beginning of a friendship they had built.

“He was always such a prat at school,” Hermione recalled sadly, “I’d like to think I have never hated anyone but what I felt for him then came damn close. Just now, in one sentence he was the bully again.”

Narcissa nodded, knowing six years of bullying could not be swept under the carpet.

“He seemed like a totally different person up until then. How do I know which persona is real?” Hermione wondered.

“I would say the truth lies in between the two,” Narcissa mused, “With me he was always a sweet, polite young man. Around Lucius he was a vicious, spoiled brat. If he resumes bad habits, make sure you point them out.”

“That head-slap is pretty useful, too,” Hermione admitted.

“I learned that one from the previous Mrs Malfoy. She hated me.”

Hermione found it hard to imagine a pureblood mother having Narcissa.

“Why?”

Narcissa smiled, “She said I was too honest.”

“And that was bad?”

“It was when I had a little too much to drink and told her that she had the personality of a rabid ferret.”

Hermione laughed at that image, “Did Draco ever tell you about his own ferret experience?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After an hour of chatting with Narcissa and learning as many embarrassing stories about young Draco Hermione was feeling better.

Andromeda arrived through the fireplace to hear the two witches cackling with laughter. In her arms, Teddy stirred.

“So, Draco spent three years thinking that if he played with it, it would fall off!” Narcissa laughed.

Hermione was leaning into the fabric of the lounge crying with laughter.

“Hello Cissy, Hermione,” Andromeda greeted with a smile, “I see you’re getting along well.”

Hermione covered her mouth to try to stop the laughter. It didn’t work.

“We were lamenting the idiocy of the men in our lives,” Narcissa giggled, “Draco decided to ignore common sense and fly around on a broom with that gaping wound on his back.”

“Well little Teddy here was a royal pain in the bottom last night,” Andromeda agreed. She held the baby out to her sister, who took him happily.

“I want to get drunk,” Hermione announced, “Totally off-my-face, where are my shoes, why is that kangaroo flying across the ceiling, drunk.”

“I have a whole cabinet of nice booze at my house,” Andromeda offered with a smile, “Who will look after Teddy though?”

“His Godfather,” Hermione decided. She jumped to her feet and headed outside with a smile.

“She has fire,” Andromeda commented, “Is Draco a match for her?”

“Definitely,” Narcissa replied, “Their chemistry is scary.”

Within minutes Harry was pulled into the house by his arm.

“Hi Dromeda,” he greeted, clearly confused, “Hermione said you desperately needed my help?”

“We do,” Narcissa agreed, pushing Teddy into his arms, “Your Godson needs you while we have some girl time. Has my son further injured himself yet?”

Harry dropped the broom so he could support Teddy, “Only a little.”

Ginny burst into the house, “What’s happening, ladies?”

“We need to get pissed,” Andromeda announced, “You’re welcome to join us Ginny. Where’s Molly? She might like to come too.”

“Mum’s out visiting Charlie,” Ginny replied, “She can come get sloshed next time.”

“Is Draco safe out there with Ronald?” Narcissa asked suddenly, “They’re not on good terms as yet.”

“If either one misbehaves I’ll tie them to a tree and let the gnomes torture them!” Ginny announced, “Harry; you’re in charge of those two dopes.”

“Me?” Harry cried, “I can’t stop them being morons!”

“You don’t have to stop them, just report whoever deserved to be tied to the tree,” Hermione suggested.

“Oh, I can do that.”

“Then that’s settled,” Narcissa said happily, “Lead the way ladies! Tell Draco I’ll owl him daily.”

Harry watched as one by one the four women disappeared through the fireplace. Teddy made a gurgling noise and waved his arm at his Godfather. Within seconds he had black hair, green eyes and a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

“You’re my only hope Teddy,” Harry said to the baby, “I don’t think I can stop Ron and Malfoy from screeching at each other like a pair of banshees.”

Ron wandered in with his broom, “Harry? What’s going on?”

“You know, I’m not completely sure.”


	24. Girl Time

“Linna, would you like a drink?” Hermione asked the House Elf.

Narcissa and Andromeda were lounging on the furniture while Ginny and Hermione sat cross legged next to the coffee table. The redhead had declared that sitting on the floor while drinking made the fall much shorter.

“No thank-you, Miss,” the Elf replied happily, “Too strong for me. Would you like a refill?”

“Fill ‘er up!” Ginny laughed.

Narcissa watched as the two young women slowly relaxed after leaving the Burrow. She doubted they were aware of the tension which had been growing since she had arrived with Draco in tow.

“Won’t Draco be freaking out because he can’t see me?” Hermione wondered.

“Let him,” Narcissa replied, “He needs to understand they your presence should be appreciated, especially when you’re trying to look out for his best interests.”

“What was he like at school?” Andromeda asked curiously.

Narcissa listened with mounting horror as Hermione and Ginny recalled all the awful behaviour and insults which her son had perpetrated throughout the years.

“Damn Lucius,” she sighed, “He spent years trying to poison Draco. I am so sorry for everything he put you through.”

“I don’t blame you,” Hermione said kindly, “I don’t even blame Draco really. The whole ‘Pureblood’ thing reminds me of a cult actually.”

“What is a ‘cult’ exactly?” Narcissa wondered.

The resulting conversation was interesting, even with the amount of alcohol being consumed.

“Voldemort was a crappy cult leader,” Ginny decided, “Hello? Charisma? Pfft; the closet thing he had to a woman in his life was that snake.”

“I did wonder about him actually,” Narcissa admitted, “A few of the Death Eaters were into rape but he never showed an interest in anything sexual. What if all the obsession was because he was gay and too afraid to admit it?”

Hermione was clearly revolted, “That’s an insult to any gay person.”

“Who was that weirdo in the Muggle war who was afraid of women, yet obsessed by them?” Ginny asked, “I remember you comparing him to Voldemort.”

“Hitler,” Hermione answered, “He was obsessed with the purity of German blood. He was nice to animals, vegetarian and yet implemented mass-murder of whole groups of people because they were different. Bonkers.”

“No wonder the Centaurs hate wizards,” Andromeda mused, “They are intelligent and clearly many wizards are not.”

“I like this drink,” Ginny said to her glass, “What is it?”

“Vodka and orange,” Andromeda replied, “Clear proof that Muggles do have their own kind of magic.”

“I don’t need any more proof; they have chocolate,” Narcissa added with a giggle, “When I was pregnant with Draco and we didn’t have any chocolate in the house I threatened to snap my wand and go live with Muggles if Lucius didn’t fetch me some.”

The image of Lucius being sent out to fetch chocolate ignited a roar of laughter around the room.

“I’m trying to imagine his reaction to the mere mention of going to live with Muggles,” Andromeda said thoughtfully, “I’m thinking steam out the ears, a big vein on his forehead and losing the ability to speak.”

Narcissa shook her head, “He wasn’t brave enough by that stage in the pregnancy; I’d hurled antique vases at his head, freed his personal House Elf and refused to let him touch me for a fortnight. He knew not to argue when pregnancy hormones were at play.”

“What happened to the House Elf?” Hermione wondered.

“She was transferred to the kitchens, as she didn’t want to leave the Manor. Lucius was always cruel to his personal elf; a nasty habit he picked up from his own father,” Narcissa explained.

“What were his parents like?” Ginny asked curiously.

“His father was just like Lucius; cold, calculating and a coward at heart. His mother was beautiful and extremely selfish. I couldn’t stand either of them.”

“Why did you marry him, then?” Hermione wondered.

Narcissa snorted into her drink, which made Andromeda laugh as it was so unladylike.

“I was the closest in age with the appropriate blood lines,” Narcissa revealed, clearly unimpressed, “He literally used those words when he approached my father about the match.”

“Did he ask you first?” Ginny asked.

“That’s simply not how pureblood marriages work,” Andromeda explained, “The bride doesn’t get a choice. If the father agrees, it will happen.”

“That’s awful,” Hermione declared.

“Yes, it is,” Narcissa agreed, “I had always thought Lucius was an arrogant prat with the personality of a sponge. I nearly threw up when my father proudly announced I was going to wed the Malfoy heir.”

“Did you try to get out of it?” Ginny asked.

“After seeing what I went through, I bet you didn’t dare Cissy,” Andromeda guessed.

“Exactly; I was too scared to say no. Lucius was polite and good-looking so I maintained hope that he wasn’t as boring and subservient to tradition as he appeared.”

“When did that hope die?” Ginny asked.

Andromeda laughed, “I love Gryffindors; they just blurt out everything.”

Ginny blushed, realising the question was rude, “Sorry.”

Narcissa waved her hand dismissively, “Don’t be; that hope died on the wedding night.” She blushed suddenly and snapped her mouth closed.

“Dear Merlin, we have to hear the rest of that story!” Andromeda insisted.

Narcissa shook her head with her lips pressed tightly together.

“Please Cissy?” Ginny prompted, “I’ll tell you about the sex talk Draco had with Harry.”

“WHAT?” Narcissa cried. Her drink sloshed dangerously in her hand.

“I thought he was interested in Hermione,” Andromeda laughed.

Hermione put aside her drink and buried her head in her hands.

“Nope, I’m not telling until we hear the wedding night story!” Ginny insisted.

“I need more vodka for this,” Narcissa insisted, pouring herself more alcohol.

Ginny and Hermione held out their glasses too.

Narcissa sighed, “Well first of all, I had to undergo a medical exam and have the Healer specify in writing that I was still a virgin.”

Ginny made an outraged noise, “I bet he bloody wasn’t!”

“The Malfoy wedding rings ensure there is no cheating after the ceremony but his parents still had this utterly humiliating tradition where his parents and mine were to escort us to the bedroom and watch us, you know, consummate the marriage,” Narcissa admitted, still blushing heavily.

“You’re not serious!” Andromeda cried, at the same time Hermione yelled, “No way!”

Ginny pretended to vomit onto the coffee table.

“I know!” Narcissa agreed, “And they didn’t tell my anything about it until we were entering the bedroom!”

“Oh Cissy, I’m so sorry -” Andromeda began.

Narcissa waved her arm again, “I didn’t go through with it! I told them to get lost because I wasn’t even going to take my shoes off until all parents had cleared the entire wing!”

The three listening witches were clearly relieved.

“My father tried to hit me just for complaining, but Lucius caught his wrist and coldly informed him that I was his responsibility and if anyone laid a finger on me he would kill them,” Narcissa continued, “So, he wasn’t all bad.”

“Was he against their creepy presence, too?” Hermione asked.

“No, he actually tried to convince me that it was a valuable tradition,” Narcissa said with a huff, “In the end he wouldn’t stand up to his father so I yelled at them all to get out or the marriage would never be consummated. I even threw my wand at Lucius and declared I would rather be obliviated and dumped in the middle of Muggle London before I would let anyone see us have sex.”

Ginny was laughing so hard she was struggling to breathe.

“His mother made some comment about how rude I was and then made all the parents leave,” Narcissa added, “It was the only good thing that woman ever did.”

Andromeda sagged back against the lounge, “Thank Merlin for that. How could anyone want to have sex with their parents watching?”

“What kind of parent would WANT to watch?” Ginny demanded.

Hermione looked nauseous, “I wonder if Bellatrix had to do that.”

Ginny reached out and squeezed her shoulder. She knew that Hermione was anxious when the name was mentioned, let alone saying it herself.

“There was always something wrong with her,” Andromeda muttered.

“She did it, and they watched,” Narcissa said with a frown, “After the wedding night she yelled at me for not wanting an audience. I’m so glad she could never have children; they would have been completely evil, too.”

“I’m regretting the alcohol,” Ginny muttered, “That bitch makes me sick at the best of times. If I knew where it was, I’d piss on her grave.”

Narcissa and Andromeda burst into laughter, which surprised Hermione. For well-bred pureblood witches their sense of humour was odd.

“I got Ted to do that on our parents’ graves,” Andromeda confided through giggles.

Narcissa gaped at her sister, “Oh Merlin! Really? We have to do that!”

Ginny had left her drink on the coffee table and sprawled out on the floor, gasping for breath, “You two are hilarious! I’m going to wet myself if I keep laughing!”

“Not here!” Andromeda chastised, “Bathroom or cemetery; no-where else is acceptable.”

Hermione laughed so hard she almost fell over on Ginny too. The image of Narcissa and Andromeda stumbling into a cemetery while rather inebriated to find a grave to urinate on was unforgettable.

“I missed you so much Dromeda,” Narcissa sighed to her sister as she wiped away tears, “You would not believe some of the shit I had to endure after you left.”

“Besides having sex with the sponge-man?” Andromeda giggled.

“All the crap with He-Who-Was-Clearly-Psycho,” Narcissa clarified, “I would have grabbed Draco and hid at your house after the Quidditch Cup.”

“I wish you had,” Andromeda agreed.

Hermione and Ginny managed to compose themselves enough to sit back up.

“We need some food to soak up this alcohol,” Hermione declared, trying very hard not to slur her words, “Who wants a pizza?”

“What’s a peetza?” Narcissa asked curiously.

“I’ll order,” Andromeda said, placing her glass on the coffee table with overly cautious movements. She was unsteady as she climbed to her feet.

“You’re sloshed, Dromeda!” Narcissa laughed.

“Thank-goodness!” her sister replied vehemently, “I’d have passed out listening to your stories otherwise.”

Ginny and Hermione announced their pizza preferences while Narcissa smiled at them. She had always wanted more children, specifically a daughter.

“Now that I have told my story, I want to hear about this sex talk,” she said to the young witches. Their sudden giggling and heated blushes promised a good laugh.

“Wait until I’ve ordered the pizzas!” Andromeda yelled from the kitchen, “Don’t even start without me!”

“And what if we do?” Ginny challenged while grinning.

“I know your mother, Ginevra!” Andromeda threatened, “She has already broached the idea of Harry moving in here to avoid any activities which could compromise your virginity before the wedding.”

Ginny pouted as Andromeda finished ordering the pizza. Hermione and Narcissa continued to giggle childishly.

“Okay, so Draco and Harry were having some sort of sex talk,” Andromeda prompted as she sat back down, “Let’s hear the rest.”

Ginny giggled before summarising her idea of having Draco talk to Harry, liberally punctuated with hiccoughs. Hermione chimed in to point out that Draco was clearly horrified by the suggestion that he talk to Potter.

Narcissa frowned at her drink, “How many women has my son slept with?”

Hermione shared a glance with Ginny and wondered if they had just gotten Draco in trouble.

“Um, he said four,” Hermione recalled.

“Hmmm,” Andromeda mused, “Not good but not unexpected.”

“I don’t know what it is about Malfoy men,” Narcissa said, still frowning, “Expecting pure brides while whoring around Hogwarts. I expected better from Draco, I really did.”

“Why?” Ginny asked.

Narcissa smiled at the witches, “I told him that if he had sex before marriage it would turn purple and only work once a month. I guess he figured out I was lying after a few years.”


	25. Male Bonding

As enjoyable as flying was the sudden agony in his chest consumed Draco. The pull toward his mate deepened abruptly. He guided the broom toward the ground with confident movements before groaning and stumbling to his knees.

As the shock faded Draco realized that he was still very concerned for Hermione, but the pain was fading. The emotional connection to his mate was very confusing; she was enjoying her distance from him.

Draco wanted to hate his Veela heritage yet without it he was sure he would have bowed to fear and served Voldemort anyway. Without the attachment to Hermione he suspected his behaviour at school would have been the same; and it would not have been an act.

All the research specified how protective the Veela was toward their mate. He was grateful that she had forced him to be a better person in return.

Draco remained kneeling on the grass with the broom abandoned beside him. He kept his focus on his breathing until the ache in his chest was manageable.

“Malfoy?”

Draco glanced over to see Weasley holding his broom and watching him with concern. He had never thought he would see that expression aimed at him under the red hair of that particular Weasley.

Draco realized that his hand was pressed to his chest. Weasley probably thought he was having a heart attack.

“Are you in pain or something?” Weasley asked, clearly not comfortable making the query.

“Hermione has gone somewhere,” Draco managed, “I can feel the distance.”

“Um, right. She’s probably at Dromeda’s place. Do you need to go there too?”

“I don’t think I can leave,” Draco replied, “Unofficial house arrest or whatever.”

“Do you want to go inside?” Weasley shifted from one foot to the other. He clearly had no idea how to handle a Draco who wasn’t sneering at him.

“I guess,” Draco found that he was able to stand up after a few moments. The fading pain was replaced by disorientation.

“I’ll put the brooms away,” Weasley offered, “Mum threatened to shove them somewhere uncomfortable last time they were left out.”

Wherever Hermione was, she was enjoying herself. The mirth which he could feel welling up inside his chest made him suspect that she was laughing so hard her stomach would end up hurting.

Draco slipped into the house to find Potter pulling out piles of supplies while Teddy lay on the floor making incomprehensible noises.

“What’s all that?” Draco asked wearily. He didn’t really care; he just wanted a distraction.

“Nappies, wipes, spare clothes and lots of other baby stuff,” Potter replied, “As Godfather, I get to look after the tiny terror.”

“You can keep the nappy duty,” Draco replied, “Did Hermione go with Dromeda?”

Potter nodded, “Something about ‘Girl Time’ and wanting to get drunk. I’ll never understand women.”

Weasley wandered into the room, “We’re not supposed to understand them,” he declared, “It’s a life-long mystery.”

“It’s not fair,” Potter complained, “Ginny understands me too damn well. I can glance at her and she knows what I was about to say, do and think.”

Teddy made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a burp as Potter picked him up. Draco noted the black hair and scar on the baby.

Weasley peered at Teddy, “Welcome to the world mate; women are nuts.”

“Great, now he has your eyes,” Potter complained.

Draco snorted, “Potter and Weasley had a baby. I knew it would happen one day.”

Potter held Teddy out so he could see Draco clearly. Within seconds he had pale blonde hair, though he kept the blue eyes and scar.

“You’re sick,” Draco said to both of them, “Don’t involve me in your sordid affair.”

“You wish you could get a piece of this,” Weasley declared dismissively.

The sentiment was so ridiculous that Draco started laughing. Harry struggled to hold Teddy safely while gasping for air and even Weasley was grinning like a fool.

“Are you two always this ridiculous?” Draco gasped as soon as he reclaimed the ability to speak.

Potter shrugged, “Basically. Why, what do your friends act like?”

Draco recalled a similar conversation he had had with Hermione.

“I had acquaintances, but I’m not sure if I ever really had friends,” he admitted.

Weasley paused in stuffing something in his mouth, “That’s really sad Malfoy; not surprising considering how you acted at school but still pretty sad.”

Draco shrugged, “Welcome to my life.”

Potter picked up a small black box and pointed it at the Muggle box. Within seconds the blank screen was filled with coloured images.

“Watch some TV,” Potter instructed, “I think the girls had the right idea about getting drunk.”

“I think we’re doing rather well,” Draco mused, “We haven’t tried to hex each other at all, Weasley made a witty comment and Teddy hasn’t thrown up on anyone. That’s serious progress.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hours passed while Draco tried to ignore the ache in his chest. Hermione was still very happy which left him quite conflicted. He _wanted_ her to be happy as badly as he wanted her to be in arms reach.

“I can’t believe we spent so many years without this thing,” Weasley mused.

“The Dursley’s had a television,” Potter replied, “I was never allowed to choose what we watched though.”

“I wish they could show Quidditch games on it,” Weasley added, “We could watch old ones and analyse tactics too.”

“They have documentaries too,” Potter added, “Where you can learn as you watch.”

Weasley groaned, “Don’t tell Hermione; she’s have us studying during the holidays, t.”

“What do you mean ‘too’?” Potter snorted, “You barely study during the school year.”

“I always suspected that you two would have failed without Hermione,” Draco said casually.

“Maybe a couple of subjects,” Potter admitted with a shrug.

Draco watched as Potter pulled a bottle out of the huge mound of items needed to care for Teddy. Within seconds the infant was happily drinking milk while looking around the room. The scar on his forehead remained prominent while his hair turned ginger.

“He’s going to get into so much trouble at Hogwarts,” Draco mused, “He’ll be sneaking into other common rooms before Christmas of his first year.”

“Lots of students do that with polyjuice anyway,” Weasley commented.

“Not in first year,” Draco argued.

“Nope, it was second year for us,” Potter replied.

Draco was impressed for about two seconds, “Let me guess; Hermione brewed it and then all three of you took it?”

Weasley nodded, his eyes glues to the screen, “Of course. Though Hermione had some trouble with the transformation because the hair was actually from a cat. We didn’t have any trouble though.”

“Cat hair?” Draco repeated, “That could have been very bad.”

“It was,” Potter agreed, “She spent some time in the infirmary to get back to normal.”

“And you two were sneaking in where?”

Weasley grinned at him, “We snuck into the Slytherin common room as Crabbe and Goyle to see if you were the Heir of Slytherin.”

Draco struggled to remember his two followers acting strange. It had been years ago, and they were never good conversationalists anyway.

“Well, sorry I had to let you down,” Draco said while shaking his head, “Crabbe and Goyle never said anything about it; what did you do with them?”

“Sleeping Draught and a broom cupboard,” Potter revealed with a grin, “Maybe they woke up in closets together so often it wasn’t worth mentioning?”

Draco had mourned the death of Vincent Crabbe. They had known each other well before they entered Hogwarts and Draco had always feared that his life would end the same way. The strongest emotion was pity that none of them had been able to escape expectations put on them by their families.

“What are you watching Ron?” Potter asked.

“EastEnders,” the redhead replied, “It’s not bad.”

“I’m going to get you a bunch of movies,” Potter replied, “Anytime you annoy someone we’ll stuff you in your room with a new one.”

Weasley shrugged, “Works for me.”

“Are there enough movies in existence?” Draco wondered aloud.

The puff of smoke and flash of green in the fireplace heralded the arrival of Molly Weasley. Draco was disappointed that it was not Hermione returning before reminding himself to be polite.

Greetings were exchanged easily, and Molly took her time fussing over Teddy.

“Where are Ginny and Hermione?” Molly asked eventually.

“They went with Dromeda and Narcissa,” Potter replied, “Linna went too.”

Molly put her large bag on the floor and considered the room with her hands on her hips.

“Do you know if they are returning for dinner?”

Potter shrugged while Weasley announced, ‘No idea’.

“I’ll drop by for a visit to check,” Molly decided.

She picked up some floo powder and stepped back into the fireplace while announcing ‘Tonks Residence’.

Draco envied her. As his mother had been given written permission to go live with her sister he doubted it would be a good idea to visit unannounced. He was sure the Ministry had put a trace on him when they scanned his memories.

“Do Hermione and Ginny spend afternoons getting drunk on a regular basis?” Draco asked Potter.

“Not that I know of,” he replied. Teddy had finished the bottle and was closing his eyes. Draco was briefly jealous that the baby was so easily pleased.

“I’ve only seen her drunk once,” Weasley added, “It was pretty scary.”

“Scary how?” Draco wondered if she was going to stomp into the house and yell at him for acting like a prat for so many years. He was intelligent enough to be wary of her wand and her fist.

“Well she isn’t subtle at the best of times,” Weasley provided, “When she’s loaded what she says can cut like a knife.”

“I remember that!” Potter laughed, “We were talking about wanting to become Aurors and she announced that the training involves advanced Potions so you would end up poisoning yourself.”

Draco laughed at the description. Even while inebriated, Hermione was still witty.

“Yep,” Weasley agreed, “And then she declared that you wouldn’t pass without a book of cheat tips like in Sixth Year.”

“So, is the plan to become Aurors still relevant?” Draco asked out of sheer politeness. He completely agreed with Hermione’s assessment of her friends.

Potter shrugged, “Maybe. I might end up deciding that I’ve had enough of chasing dark wizards and never want to pursue one again. I’m surprised I survived this long, actually.”

“George invited me to run the Joke Shop with him,” Weasley added, “Mum insisted that I get my NEWTS first though.”

Draco listened as the two of them entered into a discussion about the merits of accepting the partnership with George. Personally, Draco didn’t think Weasley was cut out to be an Auror. He could see the redhead returning from a day at the Joke shop to his adoring wife and ten kids though.

Rather than wait until the Ministry determined his fate, he decided to send the letter to the young lady who had always been keen to spend some quality time with Weasley. He knew for a fact that she wanted as many kids as she could produce, beginning as early as possible. Clearly she had no taste, but no-one was perfect.

A commotion in the dining room drew attention from all of them. Even Teddy woke up long enough to gurgle before falling back to sleep.

Molly was shaking her head while Hermione and Ginny giggled at her.

“It’s not even dinner!” Molly was saying, “I expected more of you two!”

Draco reached Hermione within seconds. The brunette gazed up at him through an alcoholic haze.

“Dra-co!” she giggled. She stumbled forward so he caught her securely in his arms a second time.

“You smell good,” she sighed into his shirt. Her hands began to wander across his chest and around to his back. He was pleasantly surprised when one hand squeezed his backside and she didn’t even blush.

“’Arry!” Ginny called, “We should have pizza at the engagement party! It’s yummy.”

Weasley rescued Teddy while his sister meandered toward Potter.

“You are drunk Miss Weasley,” Potter teased his fiancée.

“Shhh!” she replied, “Don’t tell mum.”


	26. Hung Over

Linna dropped by to pick up Teddy before dinner; apparently being coherent enough to instruct the House Elf was an acceptable condition to care for an infant.

Hermione fell asleep with her head in Draco’s lap while he sat on the lounge. He made sure he placed a pillow in the way in case she drooled in her sleep.

Weaslette was on the floor next to Potter, snoring like a tortured spirit trapped in a dungeon.

“I can’t hear the television,” Weasley complained, “Wake her up.”

“No,” Potter replied flatly, “She is really grumpy when she wakes up.”

Weasley glared at his friend, “How do you know?”

Potter blushed.

“From the other morning,” Draco supplied with a teasing smile, “He probably snuck into her room, climbed into her bed and woke her up with his -”

“SHUT UP!” Weasley bellowed.

Weaslette mumbled something in her sleep and turned her head to one side. Her snoring dropped quite a few decibels.

“Thank Merlin,” Weasley muttered.

“Do you have a Sober Up Potion for them?” Draco asked.

“Nope,” Weasley said with a smile, “And no Hang Over Cure either. Mum believes that when we get drunk we have to suffer all the consequences.”

Draco understood where Weaslette got her evil tendencies from.

Hermione woke long enough for him to escape from under her head to attend dinner. Ginny was equally unresponsive.

“Draco, your back has been bleeding again; I can see where it has dried,” Molly said as he shuffled around the room to sit in his usual place.

“Does it spell something embarrassing again?” he asked.

Molly sat down and avoided meeting his eyes, “I don’t think so.”

Draco sighed, “Alright Weasley, what does it say.” He turned so Ron could lean to one side and see his back clearly. Moments later the git started laughing.

Potter got out of his chair to survey the damage. He was polite enough to snort rather than laugh outright.

“It says ‘Boo Tit’,” he managed.

“Charming,” Draco sighed.

Arthur trotted in wearing a smile. He was thoroughly enjoying working from home if his constant cheery attitude was any indication.

Draco tried to imagine Lucius smiling simply because he was enjoying spending time with his family and failed miserably. He had been told by his father that smiling meant something very good had happened or the person was an idiot. He wanted to believe that something very good had happened but the dopey expression the youngest son usually wore gave him doubts. On the other hand, George and Bill had proved tolerable, so maybe being irritating wasn’t genetic.

“We have a family lunch every Sunday Draco,” Molly said happily, “You’ll get to meet Charlie and Percy. They usually arrive around eleven, so I’d suggest staying here in the dining room so we can let them know not to whip out their wands when they see you.”

“Or you can just wait to duel with them,” Weasley suggested through a mouthful of food, “That could be entertaining.”

Even Potter rolled his eyes at the comment.

“Be nice,” Draco warned Weasley, “Or the girl who has the hots for you will receive an owl saying you’re gay.”

Potter laughed while Weasley muttered about him being a traitor.

“Who is this girl?” Molly asked curiously.

“Complete secret,” Draco replied regally, “I have to make sure she’s still interested before I reveal anything. May I invite her here if she is agreeable?”

Molly was happy to agree. Draco understood completely; the sooner Weasley found a woman to fuss over him the sooner Molly could turn her attention to grandchildren instead.

After dinner the Monopoly board was dragged out again. Weasley poked his sister a few times to try to wake her up, only to receive a punch in the face for his efforts.

“You hit like a girl,” Weasley said to her.

“I dare you to say that to her when she’s awake,” Draco challenged absently as he studied the little silver tokens.

“It’s a stupid saying anyway,” Potter agreed, “Hermione is a girl she hits like a freight train.”

“I’m not sure what a freight train is, but it sounds painful enough to equate to a broken nose,” Draco replied. He chose the thimble as his piece.

Hermione woke up groaning about a sore head while Potter was handing out the paper representing money. Draco could feel the echo of what she was feeling, and it was not as bad as she was making out.

“That’s your reward for drinking too much dear,” Molly told her with a smile. Draco doubted the smile could be removed with a paint-stripping spell; she was knitting something else for Teddy. He suspected she was also trying to give her elder sons a less than subtle hint.

“Draco,” Hermione mumbled, “Make the pain stop.”

Draco lifted her off the couch and resettled her on the floor next to him. The cushion was free of drool, so he tucked it back under her head and used his wand to cast a pain-numbing spell. She fell back to sleep with her hand on his ankle.

Weasley was watching their interactions carefully.

“So, who is this girl you want to set me up with?”

Draco shook his head, “Not telling. I’ll owl her tomorrow though, just so you stop nagging.”

“Is she pretty?” Weasley asked.

“She is beautiful,” Draco replied simply, “And if you are lucky enough to gain even a crumb of her affection you should thank Merlin for your good fortune.”

“Roll the dice,” Potter instructed flatly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione woke up to an ache in her shoulders. She couldn’t remember deciding to sleep on the floor of the living room or fetching the blanket that was spread over her.

Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating a dark shape next to her. As her eyes slowly adjusted she recognised Draco lying on his stomach next to her. His hair was a mess and he looked so peaceful she had to smile.

Hermione noted how pale his hair was compared to his eyebrows. She dismissed the idea that he bleached his hair as there were no dark roots.

She appreciated that he could have sought out a comfortable bed, yet he had chosen to brave the floor to be near her. She reached out to rest her hand on his and let the pleasant sensation send her back into unconsciousness.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco knew it had to be somewhere between five and six in the morning based on the light in the room. Hermione slumbered next to him peacefully. Her hair was a mess and he found the sight quite appealing. She had a smattering of freckles across her nose which he found utterly adorable.

While she was unconscious he admitted that he wanted to wrap himself around her and never let her go. He had always valued his self-reliance, especially during the war, yet he was faced with a future where his entire life revolved around someone else. The Veela instincts were completely happy to hover next to Hermione for the rest of his life. His identity up until two days ago was riddled with cracks.

As a Malfoy he had been indoctrinated by ideas about a public image and reputation. Once he was back at Hogwarts the character he had cultivated for years was going to be ripped apart. She was worth it, but it was going to be a painful process none-the-less. 

“Did I drool?” Hermione whispered while her eyes remained closed.

“No,” he replied quietly, “You are completely ladylike while hung over.”

“You are so full of it,” she mumbled.

“As long as you’re the only one who knows,” he said with a smile, “I don’t mind sharing my secrets with you.”

Hermione reached up to touch her hair, “I am a mess. I’m going to get in the shower before anyone else is awake.”

“I might just have to retreat to the shed to ponder that image,” Draco admitted.

“Leave your shirt here,” Hermione replied through a yawn, “Using magic to clean it only works for a few days. Molly left a change of clothes in Charlie’s room for you. I cut the hole out of the back of the shirt already.”

“I missed you yesterday,” he replied.

“I really need to shower. Afterwards I will meet you in the shed and we can talk all about yesterday,” she bargained.

“As my Lady commands,” he kissed the back of her hand before she departed for the bathroom.

Draco smiled as she retreated from the room. The floor had been uncomfortable, but he had never slept better.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione was trying to decide what to do with her hair when she spotted Draco holding out a letter to Ron’s owl Pig. The owl was regarding him suspiciously.

“Come on, Pig,” Hermione pleaded, “Draco is completely trustworthy. He will even have treats ready for you when you come back.”

The small owl glanced at her while she was speaking before turning back to the letter being offered. He allowed Draco to attach the letter to his foot before spreading his wings and hopping toward the open window.

“I’m glad it was a short letter,” Draco muttered as the small owl struggled to gain altitude.

“Pig has never failed to deliver,” Hermione assured him.

“I figured since the letter is to set up Weasley on a date, using his owl made sense.”

Hermione caught his hand in hers, “Are you going to tell me who she is?”

Draco shook his head, “I was sworn to secrecy upon pain of death. I won’t reveal her identity until she gives me permission to.”

“So noble,” Hermione mused, “Annoying, but noble.”

“I changed clothes,” he pointed out, “Whose hand-me-downs am I wearing?”

“Charlie’s I think,” Hermione said thoughtfully, “Maybe Bill’s. Ron is too wide, and the twins are too short. Percy’s clothes would be too narrow along the shoulders.”

“Twins,” Draco repeated, “It’s so strange to think of George without Fred. Even I had to admit that they were pretty funny.”

“George didn’t speak for a full week after Fred passed,” Hermione said sadly, “He went back to the shop with Ron, but he wouldn’t say anything. One day Padma Patil showed up; her twin Parvati died too. She took one look at George and wrapped her arms around him. He just burst into tears on her shoulder.”

“And he started talking again after that?”

“Yes. He still keeps in touch with Padma via owl and they meet up occasionally. I would not be surprised if they end up best friends.”

“Or a couple?”

Hermione shrugged, “Too early to predict that one. Anything could happen I guess.”

“Is the house always this quiet?” Draco wondered.

“No. It’s rare not to be woken by screams at least once per night. Let’s head out to the shed so we don’t wake anyone up,” Hermione suggested.

Draco tried to hide his cocky smile as he slipped his arm around her waist to rest on her far hip. He wondered how she would react if he asked her to be his girlfriend.

“I’m guessing you missed me yesterday?” Hermione asked with a complete lack of subtlety, “Or do you walk like this with all your friends?”

“I was always walking like this with Crabbe and Goyle,” Draco replied smoothly, “We stuck to the broom closets for snogging though.”

Her laugh was beautiful, even when it was at his expense.

“If you must know, I missed you terribly yesterday,” he admitted when she had stopped chuckling over the image of him and his two friends cuddling somewhere.

“But I could feel how much fun you were having, which eased the ache quite a lot,” he concluded.

“It was so much fun,” Hermione agreed, “Listening to your mothers’ stories was hilarious; Ginny nearly wet herself from laughing so hard.”

Hermione could see the confusion in his face, “My mother has funny stories? Like from dinner parties where the wrong napkins were delivered?”

“No, definitely not. The best ones involved her in-laws and rebelling against ridiculous Malfoy traditions.”

Draco regarded her with interest, “I’ve never heard those stories. Assuming neither of us goes to Azkaban I will have to get her drunk so she will tell me those stories too.”


	27. Reminiscing

Draco and Hermione ate breakfast together before retreating back to the shed. Their conversation centred around their years at Hogwarts.

Hermione was shocked when he confessed to dropping the piece of paper with information about the basilisk on her table in the library during Second year. Harry and Ron had assumed that she had ripped out a page of a library book; as if she would ever do such a thing. She had not worried about who had given her the clue once the crisis has ended; she had assumed Dumbledore or someone equally knowledgeable had helped her out.

The discussion had moved forward to the time she had punched him in the face. She had never gotten in trouble for that and she had always wondered why.

“Pansy fixed my nose,” Draco explained, “I swore Crabbe and Goyle to secrecy and wouldn’t tell her who had punched me. She was livid, but then again she was never really in a good mood that year.”

“Was she ever in a good mood?” Hermione wondered.

“Pansy is actually a very lovely person, when she is with people she trusts,” Draco replied, “Unfortunately due to her position as the only child of a very old and powerful pureblood family she wasn’t able to trust many people at all. Her parents were obsessed with her duty to continue the family. If they heard that she wasn’t trying desperately to corner me into marriage she received Howlers. They tried to organise a marriage with the only remaining heir to the Burke bloodline that year and he was in his forties.”

“That’s just sick,” Hermione decided.

“Yep; he was a Death Eater and died in the Battle for Hogwarts. I think the Flint family has inherited everything they had.”

“Marcus Flint?”

“Yep, his status as an eligible pureblood has been boosted by the extra wealth,” Draco said, “Even though his father is in Azkaban and his mother is crazy. I wouldn’t be surprised if an engagement is announced before Christmas.”

“He was such an arsehole,” Hermione remembered, “Who would want to marry him?”

Draco shrugged, “Someone with no choice.”

“Are there many purebloods left anymore?” Hermione wondered, “They had enough trouble breeding and half of them are in Azkaban now.”

“The Sacred Twenty-Eight is now the Sacred Fourteen,” Draco replied, “There are a dozen or so pureblood families outside that fourteen but within a couple of generations I doubt there will be more than a handful left. Whenever a family has only one daughter and no sons the name dies out. The Carrow, Greengrass, Parkinson, Rowle and Travers families are all in that position.”

“And most have mothers, fathers or both in Azkaban,” Hermione added.

“Mirabella Rowle is not even five years old,” Draco said sadly, “She is being raised by her mother. I wouldn’t be surprised if the poor little thing has already been betrothed to the Selwyn heir; he’s six.”

“Ridiculous.”

“If Lucius is trying to find a pureblood woman to agree to carry a Malfoy bastard, I wish him luck; there are not many left to choose from,” Draco scoffed.

“How weird would it be to have a brother or sister young enough to be your child?” Hermione said with a frown.

“Actually, the Malfoy wedding rings prevent cheating. Even if he tried a Muggle technique the chances of conception would be extremely low.”

Hermione gaped at him, “So if he wants a pureblood heir he’s going to need you.”

Draco nodded, “Or at least my sperm.”

“Ew!”

“I agree.”

“I don’t understand how anyone can be so fixated on this pureblood nonsense; there is absolutely no proof that there is any difference between blood beyond basic blood typing. Put my blood under a microscope and compare it to any pureblood and all we’d have is two slides of blood.”

“He has always been obsessed; during the World Cup I overheard him planning to try to find you to torture for fun,” Draco added, “That was probably my fault for having a crush on you.”

“You warned us,” Hermione remembered, “By insulting me of course.”

Draco nodded, “Crabbe and Goyle were loyal to their fathers; there was no way I could have phrased it any other way. I couldn’t believe that Weasley was so thick he didn’t recognise that you would be a target.”

“Ron is not thick,” Hermione defended automatically, “He just grew up in a family which kept their distance from Death Eaters.”

“I have to admit; I envy him that.”

The conversation moved on to Fifth Year. Hermione was sceptical of his claim that he had known about the Room of Requirement long before Umbridge had.

“You lot were so obvious!” Draco laughed, “I had to let off dungbombs around the castle to keep the rest of the Squad distracted. Longbottom and Abbott in particular had absolutely no ability to get there with any stealth.”

“I’m still not sure about your claims; you were quite a git in Fifth Year.”

“Do you really think your little friends could have escaped when we had them captured? I practically gave Weaslette her wand and allowed her to hex me. Even Goyle thought I was an idiot that day. Crabbe though I had a crush on Weaslette for a month after that.”

Hermione was impressed at how fast the hours passed while she was with Draco. She loved Harry and Ron, but it was refreshing to spar verbally with an intellectual equal.

Ginny interrupted their bonding around ten. She peered around the doorway and grinned at their cuteness before Draco noticed her.

“See? No stealth at all,” Draco pointed out, “The DA would not have lasted three meetings without me causing chaos as a distraction.”

Ginny frowned, “Are you talking about all those dungbomb attacks when I was in Fourth Year? Even Peeves was in on that.”

“Moaning Myrtle was surprisingly helpful,” Draco mused, “Did you know she would flirt with Peeves all the time?”

“I don’t want to think about that Malfoy,” Ginny replied, “I can’t wash my brain you know.”

“I could _Obliviate_ you?” Hermione offered.

Ginny sat down on the bed, purposefully placing herself between Hermione and Draco. She grinned at both of them.

“Am I interrupting anything?” she teased.

“Yes,” Draco replied blandly, “I was just about to propose.”

“I was just about to announce my pregnancy,” Hermione replied innocently, “If you’d come in ten minutes ago you would have caught us naked.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “You two are so silly. I mean, have you two snogged yet?”

“That’s none of your business, Miss Weasley,” Hermione replied with a smile, “Are you here to gather gossip or do you have something else in mind?”

Draco watched the redhead with amusement; she was never boring at least.

“After lunch today Harry and I are going to Diagon Alley with George. Once he is back at work we’re going to disappear to Grimmauld Place,” Ginny said with a wink.

“Please do not elaborate on that plan,” Hermione begged, “I don’t want to know.”

“Are you sure?” Ginny teased, “Draco probably already knows half the plan after the little talk with Harry. I wouldn’t want you to be left out.”

“I want to be left out,” Draco offered, “And if Potter is useless between the sheets I bear no responsibility. You can’t call a pet rat ‘Dog’ and expect it to fetch.”

Hermione was giggling into her hand. Ginny appreciated that the git could make her friend laugh even if it was at the expense of her fiancée.

“But you can call a Veela a ferret and watch it twitch,” Ginny replied.

“How did all the wit and charm in the gene pool completely circumvent Weasley?” Draco asked her, “His sense of humour barely exists, and he would lose a battle of wits with a house cat.”

“Ron is sweet, caring and genuine,” Hermione contradicted, “Have you noticed that when you display similar characteristics no-one tries to hex you?”

“I am never sweet,” Draco argued.

Ginny chuckled, “You are sometimes. Be nice to Ron or the moment I get back to Hogwarts I will spread rumours about you being so sweet you were having tea parties with him and Teddy.”

“Don’t make me kill you Weaslette; you’re the most tolerable one in your gene pool,” Draco did not look threatening without the glare he had worn at school.

“And one day I’ll introduce some Potter blood into the gene pool,” Ginny said happily.

Draco smirked, “Clearly, your children will be less tolerable.”

“You are as charming as ever,” Ginny laughed, “You should be nice to me; I’m here to escort you to lunch soon. If you annoy me, I’ll sic my brothers on you.”

“Which ones?” Draco inquired.

“All of them.”

“Won’t they be too busy chasing Potter?” Draco wondered, “Especially if I let slip your plans for this afternoon?”

Ginny fluttered her eyelashes at the Slytherin, “Draco, do you think you have any chance of getting into Hermione’s knickers without me on your side?”

“Leave my knickers out of this,” Hermione protested.

“I thought Slytherin’s were cunning,” Ginny added, “Keeping me onside would be a very good way of smoothing out issues before they form.”

“She’s right, you know,” Hermione conceded.

“Of course, she’s right,” Draco agreed, “But she’s almost as fun to banter with as you are.”

“Was there no-one in Slytherin to banter with?” Hermione wondered.

Draco shrugged, “There were a few, but they hold grudges.”

Ginny smiled, “Draco, that is not a Slytherin quality; that’s a trait of most women.”

“Harry and Ron have been around me long enough to develop the ability to hold grudges too,” Hermione added.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her, “Are you finally admitting that their feminine qualities are over-enhanced?”

“No.”

“Definitely not in Harry’s case,” Ginny added happily, “Just yesterday he -”

“Weaslette!” Draco barked, “I would gladly face all your angry male relatives at a reunion of the Order of the Phoenix while wearing a Death Eater mask if it would spare me having to hear about your sexcapades with Potter.”

“Seconded,” Hermione muttered.

Ginny sighed dramatically, “We were having an intellectual discussion actually.”

Hermione shared a glance with Draco. He could see that she was sceptical. She recognised that he had moved well beyond scepticism into disbelief.

“About Quidditch or the merits of using a hairbrush?” Draco prompted, “If it was the second one I dearly hope you were the victor.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and refused to be drawn into an argument about Harry’s messy but adorable hair.

“Well you see, I didn’t understand something, and he wasn’t able to clarify his position well enough,” she said.

Hermione was still suspicious that Ginny was leading them into a sexcapades conversation.

“I don’t want to hear about you and Potter in ‘positions’,” Draco muttered, “Especially after this afternoon.”

“I just don’t understand,” Ginny complained, “How can he prefer red lacy underwear when it clashes with my hair?”

Hermione stuck her fingers into her ears in an attempt to preserve her sanity.

Draco sighed, “Thanks Weaslette, she’s probably just decided to be celibate for the next year; you’re responsible for my death.’

“You’re such a worrywart,” Ginny replied, wrinkling her nose in his direction, “Are you going to help me with the hair clash?”

Draco was tempted to stick his fingers in his ears too. Bearing in mind how helpful the redhead could be in the future he refrained from casting a silencing charm on her.

“He wasn’t looking at your hair. He didn’t notice your hair. You could have been bald, and he would not have noticed.”

Ginny nodded thoughtfully, “That makes more sense.”

“What the hell is going on here?” Potter demanded from the doorway. Behind him Weasley was grinning like a fool.

“Nothing Harry!” Ginny said brightly. She jumped to her feet and was hugging him before he could ask anything else.

“Did you need any more sex tips, Potter?” Draco asked casually, “I think your woman has plans.”


	28. Family

Weasley was laughing so hard he had keeled over on the ground. There were bits of grass in his hair and he was clutching his stomach.

“I think he’s broken,” Draco decided.

Hermione had removed the fingers from her ears when she had noticed the two boys at the doorway. Sadly, she had heard all of the conversation anyway.

“Not another word!” Ginny hissed at Draco.

Potter was bright red again. Draco was beginning to wonder if that was his default hue after their chat.

“You are evil, Ferret,” Potter snapped at Draco, “Ron, it’s not that funny.”

“Yes it is!” Weasley gasped.

“Do you want me to stop him laughing?” Draco asked politely.

Potter regarded him warily, “If you can do it without magic or violence.”

“Challenge accepted.”

Ginny and Hermione exchanged a worried glance.

“Hey Weasley,” Draco began, “Why do you think Potter needed to know about deflowering a virgin?”

As Weasley processed his words Potter swore at the blonde and ran.

“Ginny!” Weasley cried, “You can’t -”

“You were shagging Lavender in when you were fifteen Ronald,” Ginny pointed out coldly, “I am nearly seventeen so you can’t judge. If you breathe a word of this to any of the family, I will make your life miserable.”

“And I’ll set you up with someone worse than Millicent Bulstrode,” Draco added.

“This is a conspiracy!” Weasley cried, “You’re all against me!”

“No, we’re not,” Hermione argued.

“I am,” Draco offered.

“We’re not,” Hermione repeated with a glare in his direction, “We just want to allow Ginny and Harry to be happy.”

Weasley was clearly revolted, “I don’t want to imagine them THAT happy.”

“Then don’t imagine it,” Hermione instructed, “Convince yourself that the two of them never do anything other than holding hands and any children have to be the product of immaculate conception.”

Weasley nodded, “I like that plan.”

“Of course, you would,” Ginny snorted.

Draco tried to suppress the mocking grin before addressing Weasley, “Does it give you hope for the future?”

“Shut up Malfoy,” Weasley replied automatically, “Aren’t you supposed to be setting me up with a sexy woman?”

“I sent an owl this morning; don’t badger me or I’ll tell her that you’re utterly desperate.”

Weasley cocked his head to the side, “Would that put her off?”

Draco rolled her eyes, “No idea. Maybe, or it might make her jump on a broom and be here by the end of the day.”

“I’d risk it,” Weasley decided. Ginny shook her head at him.

“You are not desperate Ron,” Hermione said, clearly exasperated, “You are just feeling left out.”

“Why would you just blurt out something like that?” Draco asked curiously.

“Exactly!” Weasley cried, which startled Draco, “Feelings! Why bother gushing on about feelings anyway?”

“No, you twit,” Draco replied dismissively, “I mean why announce that when an onlooker could assume six different things? Why leave him so open to manipulation?”

Hermione waved her hand at Draco, “Bloody Slytherins. Why assume that someone here wants to manipulate Ron? I was stating the obvious on purpose.”

“Why?” Weasley asked.

“Ron, I once said you have the emotional range of a teaspoon; that’s clearly not true. You do however have the emotional _awareness_ of a teaspoon,” Hermione explained, “Once I point out what the problem is you control yourself much better.”

“And you sulk less,” Ginny added.

“Bloody women,” Weasley muttered, “We’re not even together anymore and she still bossing me around.”

“Consider it practise for when you’re married,” Draco suggested.

“Good luck Draco,” Weasley offered evilly, “Hermione can nag for _hours_.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her ex-boyfriend, “It’s not nagging if you would listen to reason the first time.”

Weasley held up his hands in surrender, “I’m going to find Harry. He’s probably hiding up a tree somewhere.”

“Aren’t Gryffindor’s supposed to be brave?” Draco asked seriously.

Ginny stuck her tongue out at him, “He’s brave, not stupid.”

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Ginny knew that her brothers were not really a threat to her fiancée. She also knew that they thoroughly enjoyed pretending to harass him for his role in her life. If they had their way, they would have half a dozen sisters to defend; she suspected that was one of the reasons they had adopted Hermione so readily.

Bill had always had his hands full trying (and often failing) to keep the twins out of trouble. Percy had always been drawn toward adults rather than the childish antics of his siblings. Charlie had always been overly protective toward her, above and beyond any of the others. He had taught her how to ride a broom and when he was away at Hogwarts he wrote to her without fail each week.

Charlie had met Harry and appeared to approve of him. Even so, Ginny worried that they would always remain acquaintances on either side of her. She longed for Charlie to embrace Harry as a brother or best friend. She also knew that she could not verbalise the wish to either of them.

Investing her time with Hermione and Draco was a welcome distraction to the young witch. She had always known that Ron would not be enough to make her friend truly happy, though she had loved the idea of having Hermione as a sister-in-law.

Ginny had not expected Draco of all people to be the one to set his eyes on her friend, and she had been flabbergasted when he had also had a female in mind for Ron. Up until a few days ago she would have assumed Draco was trying to set up his childhood nemesis with someone as charming as a Boggart.

As the appointed time neared Ginny announced that they had to head into the dining room to greet Charlie and Percy for lunch. George, Bill and Fleur would of course be attending too, though none of the latter would be tempted to pull out a wand and curse Malfoy on sight.

She was pleased to see Draco and Hermione casually holding hands as they walked and refrained from squealing at them like a schoolgirl.

Ron was already seated at the table due to a desire to fill his stomach rather than be polite. Harry was placing a broom just outside the door.

“Shouldn’t that be in the shed?” she asked him as Draco held the door open for his mate.

Harry smiled at her shyly, “I know Charlie is your favourite brother. If I need to make a quick exit, I’ll need this to outrun him.”

Ginny hooked her arm around his elbow, “You know they would never actually hurt you though right?”

“They don’t need to damage me to make their point,” Harry replied solemnly, “George threatened to tie me to a pole in the front of his shop with firecrackers attached to my unmentionables if I ever make you cry.”

Ginny giggled, “I’m pretty sure he was bluffing.”

“I’m not going to risk it. Ron has already threatened to nick the Marauder’s Map and stalk me all year to make sure I’m never alone with you. Who knows what Charlie will do?”

“Are you two coming in or not?” Draco called from his seated position, “Come on Potter, they’re more likely to hex me before they turn on you.”

“That’s certainly true,” Potter mused, “If I could use anyone as a human shield I’d use you Malfoy.”

“Of course, you would,” Draco replied as Ginny sat next to him and Potter sat on her other side, “Though with that hair you make an easy target.”

Potter slung an arm around Ginny, “Malfoy, you stand out as much as I do in a house full of gingers.”

“I guess it will depend on who has committed the biggest transgression,” Draco mused, “I exist. You want to -”

“Enough of that,” Hermione said sharply.

Molly and Arthur entered the room holding hands. Draco did not want to contemplate why they both looked so happy. Weasley entered and sat down next to Potter.

“I do miss Linna,” Molly mused, “You’ll have to suffice Arthur.”

“Of course, dear.”

Draco pushed his chair back so there was room next to him. Hermione watched him curiously and heard him simply say, “Wixon.”

A House Elf appeared with a crack, “Young Master, how can I help?”

“Wixon, I was wondering if you would be interested in moving to a new family?” Draco asked quietly.

Hermione watched the elf consider the move. From his voice he was clearly male.

“Would my mate be welcome too?” Wixon asked.

“Of course,” Draco responded, “Have you heard of the Weasley family?”

Wixon nodded, “Who is the earliest Weasley in the ancestry?”

Ginny answered, “Um Septimus?”

“Septimus Weasley?” Wixon smiled, “He was the great-grandson of Ellana Malfoy. Hence, I will still be serving the same family.”

“Great,” Ginny said sarcastically, “We’re related to the Malfoy family through the Black and Weasley sections. Yay.”

“May I fetch my mate Moxie?” Wixon asked, completely ignoring Ginny.

“Yes please.”

In another crack the elf disappeared. Molly and Arthur were bringing plates of food to the table.

“Mrs Weasley,” Draco began formally, “We have a surplus of House Elves at Malfoy Manor. Apparently Arthur Weasley is a direct descendant of a Malfoy so would you have room for a mated pair of House Elves in your home? They have been ever so bored at the Manor.”

Molly beamed at Draco like he had announced he was the reincarnation of Merlin himself. Arthur glanced at his wife before graciously accepting.

Wixon and Moxie appeared next to Draco. He smiled at them and introduced the elves to the numerous family members around the table.

“It is a pleasure to serve,” Wixon intoned formally.

“Wow, so many children!” Moxie gushed, “We are so happy to have more work to do!”

“They sound like you at school Hermione. Were you a House Elf in a past life?” Weasley wondered.

The roar of an arrival in the fireplace did not distract Weasley from the glare Hermione aimed at him.

“Where’s the welcoming party?” George called from the living room.

Moxie disappeared and George yelped in surprise. Ginny sniggered.

“Another young Weasley!” Moxie realized happily, “I’m Moxie recently transferred from Malfoy Manor. May I take your coat?”

George appeared in the doorway without his coat, “Since when do we have House Elves?” he asked in confusion.

“Since about a minute ago,” Draco replied, “It turns out a Malfoy daughter married into the family generations ago and the House Elves are getting bored. Two have happily agreed to move in.”

“Hello Sir,” Wixon greeted George, “I am Wixon. My mate Moxie and I are honoured to serve the House of Weasley.”

“Um, cool,” George replied. He sat down next to his brother, clearly not comfortable around House Elves.

Molly was in her element. She was showing the pair of elves around the kitchen and telling them about all her children.

“Seven children?” Moxie repeated in surprise, “And no House Elves to assist you? Mister Draco, why were we not transferred here years ago?”

Draco smiled at his plate, “My apologies Moxie, the Malfoy family has been very lax.”

“Indeed!” Wixon agreed.

“I think I like these two,” Arthur mused.

Bill and Fleur arrived next. The presence of the House Elves didn’t faze them for more than a few seconds.

“I love having a big family!” Moxie cried. She sniffed and Hermione was worried that she was upset. The elf assured her that they were tears of happiness.

“I’ll wait for Percy and Charlie in the living room,” Ginny announced, “It would be very impolite if one of them began a duel over lunch.”

Draco tried to ignore Fleur smiling at him, but his manners won out.

“Hello Bill, Fleur,” he managed. Bill returned his greeting before engaging his father in conversation. Fleur stared at the newly turned Veela with wide eyes.

“How long did the transformation last?” she asked curiously.

“Just under two hours,” Draco replied.

“And Hermione is definitely your mate?”

“Yes.”

Fleur watched the couple with a serious expression, “There is so little information on male Veela,” she explained, “I look forward to knowing how many of the powers you have gained.”

“He had claws and wings on Friday night,” George offered, “He scared the shit out of me.”


	29. Charlie and Percy

As Percy stepped out of the fireplace Ginny smiled at him. His position in the family was still tense after the events of the war but everyone was relieved that he was back in the fold.

“Hello, little sister,” Percy greeted warmly. He pulled her into a firm hug.

“Hi Perc,” she replied nervously, “Before you head in for lunch you need to know that we have a guest staying with us. Don’t pull your wand ok?”

Percy was intrigued, “Who is the mystery guest?”

“Go in and find out,” Ginny encouraged. She knew that Charlie could arrive at any moment.

Percy followed the scent of delicious food. Ginny didn’t hear any yelling or spells being cast so she assumed everything was alright.

Charlie arrived within a minute and grinned at his welcoming party, “I missed you, little Gin!” he boomed. He was easily the strongest of her brothers physically; training dragons kept him very fit.

“I missed you, too!” Ginny responded happily, “We have some news and a guest staying with us. Come say hello.”

She caught his hand and led him into the dining room. Percy had taken a seat next to George, apparently not bothered by the presence of the Malfoy heir.

Charlie froze in the doorway, “Malfoy?”

Draco stood up, “Hello, Charles.”

“Sit down Draco,” Ginny laughed, “No need to be so formal.”

The blonde sat down slowly, keeping his eyes on the most formidable Weasley brother he had ever encountered.

Ginny entertained Percy and Charlie by showing off her engagement ring. Congratulations were offered and she was beaming at her fiancée.

“Did you spend long planning to propose?” Percy asked Potter.

Draco chuckled into his plate of food. Hermione nudged him sharply.

“I would like to know the big secret between you two,” Charlie announced without any tact, “Last time I checked you hated each other.”

“Long story,” Ginny supplied, “Want the short version?”

“Sure.”

Ginny glanced at Draco and Hermione to see if they wanted to tell the tale instead.

“Go ahead,” Hermione said with a wave of her hand, “I’m enjoying this chicken too much to interrupt.”

Draco shrugged, not caring either way.

Ginny launched into the narrative with gusto, only interrupted by Fleur offering additional insights into Veela instincts. She emphasised how incredibly rare male Veela were and encouraged both Draco and Hermione to keep a diary of the events.

Hermione wrinkled her nose at that idea, “I’m really not comfortable with writing down stuff like that to be read by others.”

“Nor am I,” Draco added.

Fleur persisted, “You can enchant books so they can only be opened after you die and by certain people. Imagine how helpful it would be to have a book like that now, so you knew what to expect.”

“Maybe a book like that already exists,” Weasley offered, “It could be sitting in the Hogwarts library looking blank until one of you picks it up.”

“So, will you be proposing to Hermione any time soon?” Percy asked.

Hermione nearly choked on her food. She groped for her class of juice while Draco handed her a napkin.

“That would be rather presumptuous,” Draco replied calmly, “Asking her to be my girlfriend should come before talk of marriage.”

“They’re already made arrangements for the baby if Draco falls pregnant,” George offered with a grin.

“Potter, are Weasley’s always this nosy?” Draco asked.

Potter blinked like a deer caught in a flash of wandlight, “No comment.”

Ginny patted his arm, “Good answer.”

“It’s a form of caring,” Molly offered.

Arthur tried to hide his smile, “Like gossiping.” He earned a glare from his wife for that comment.

“We’re getting used to being friends,” Hermione said pointedly, “I promise not to keep anyone informed as this changes.”

“I’ll be at Hogwarts to witness it,” Ginny announced with a smile, “Who wants to receive owls with regular updates? Just make a list.”

“Harry, you might want to get a head start,” Hermione said sweetly, “Ginny, why don’t you explain why Harry was found half-naked in your bed on Friday morning?”

Potter had cleared the doorway by the time she said the words ‘half-naked’. Ginny tried to lunge at her friend to clamp a hand over her mouth, only to be held back by Draco.

“You are seriously violent Weaslette,” Draco observed as he calmly manhandled her away from his mate, “Did Potter climb into your bed or did you drag him there unconscious?”

Percy was spluttering and clutching a napkin as though it could explain what was happening. Charlie was standing just outside yelling at Potter to get down from the sky and explain himself.

Molly took a sip of her tea before calmly declaring, “Hermione, Draco; I hope you have children just like you.”

Draco frowned at her, “Did you just curse us?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry watched Charlie Weasley stomp over to the shed Draco had turned into a bedroom. Within minutes he emerged with a broom in his hand.

“Shit,” Harry muttered.

Charlie didn’t race toward the raven-haired wizard; he was not arrogant enough to think that a younger, faster flier could be caught without trickery. Instead he rose until he was level with the roof of the Burrow and waited for his prey to come to him.

He watched the younger wizard creep closer and was relieved to see curiosity in his expression rather than fear.

“I have a question for you, Mr Potter,” Charlie announced.

Harry waited patiently.

“Do you love her?”

Harry was only a few metres away when he answered, “Of course I do. I’d die for her.”

Charlie nodded, “I think you already did that. The real question is; can you live for her? She can be stubborn, temperamental and downright scary when she is angry.”

“I’ve seen all that,” Harry replied, “And I still think she is amazing.”

“I want to believe you,” Charlie admitted, “I worry that you want a family desperately and she is the key to adopting ours. She deserves a man who would be happy with her alone.”

Harry was insulted and yet relieved that Charlie cared for Ginny so much.

“I love the whole family,” Harry said seriously, “But if Ginny were alone I’d still be begging her to marry me. She makes me want to be better.”

“I’ve always been protective of Gin,” Charlie continued, “And from the moment she saw you, she was fascinated. She was put off by your fame but I’m glad she got around that.”

“You’re her favourite brother,” Harry said worriedly, “I don’t want her worried that we won’t get along.”

Charlie waited until he was within arm’s reach before he lunged. Harry yelled as he was pulled off his broom and caught in a headlock.

“The engagement was a good start,” Charlie whispered to Harry, “I plan to love you as a brother but if you get her pregnant before she graduates from Hogwarts I will tie you up and give you to a dragon as a snack. Do you remember that Hungarian Horntail? I’m sure she remembers you.”

“I’ve already had this lecture!” Harry yelled, “Let go of me, you oaf!”

Charlie guided the broom toward the ground, where Harry’s broom had fallen carelessly.

“I expect weekly updates from you regarding life in general,” Charlie ordered, “Expect regular visits too. There is one last thing we need to discuss.”

Harry was finally released from the bruising grip of the dragon-trainer. Charlie was grinning evilly.

“How do we make sure Malfoy has to work very, very hard to earn the heart of young Hermione?”

Harry grinned back, glad to have an ally who would not give in to temper explosions like Ron had.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Do you have any more relatives who would like to defend your honour?” Draco asked Ginny, “I love seeing Potter being terrorised like that.”

Outside Charlie and Potter were returning brooms to the shed. He had hoped at least one of them could fall off their broom and have to use magic to save their neck.

“Just wait until they turn on you,” Ginny replied with a sweet smile.

Arthur watched their interactions with a nostalgic smile. It was clear to him that Draco longed for siblings and Ginny was his first choice of an adopted sister. He looked forward to hearing Molly’s opinions on the subject later in the evening; she always managed to pick up on subtle signs he was oblivious to.

George was watching Draco and Hermione with practised disinterest. He had always admired the brunette and since the war he had wondered if she could ever see him in a romantic light. Her relationship with Ron had halted the train of thought at the station, and just when that fizzled out the blonde had swooped in.

In a way George was relieved that he had been denied the chance to court Hermione; he was far too damaged to offer her the comfort she needed. The protection of an older brother, on the other hand, was well within his abilities.

“So, it’s time to turn on Malfoy?” George inquired with a smile. Charlie and Harry were reclaiming their seats at the table.

“Sounds like a great plan,” Harry agreed.

Draco rolled his eyes at Potter, “I prefer the one where you run for your life while redheads chase you.”

Potter pulled a face at him, “I only want to be chased by one redhead; and she’s definitely the best looking of the bunch.”

“I can imagine her dragging you back to her cave and keeping you as a pet,” Draco agreed.

“Speaking of keeping a pet,” George interrupted, “I’m sure we all want to know how we can help Hermione adjust to her new pet Ferret.”

“Negative twenty points for lack of originality,” Charlie declared, “I want to know if anyone has threatened Malfoy yet?”

Draco smirked, “Sorry Charles, I’ve had Voldemort threaten me in the past so I doubt anyone here could really scare me.”

“What about Hermione?” Ginny suggested with an evil grin.

“She is the exception which proves the rule,” Draco amended regally.

“Good save,” Arthur offered.

Charlie was still frowning, “Watch your step Malfoy.”

“It would be foolish to do otherwise,” Draco replied.

“It is rather odd,” Percy commented, “Though I can see why the Veela would choose Hermione.”

“How’s that?” Ron asked through a mouthful of food. Even Potter appeared revolted by the lack of manners.

“As a pureblood produced by centuries of inbreeding the benefits of bringing in a muggle-born are obvious,” Percy pointed out, “Hermione is intelligent, attractive and determined. Doesn’t that sound much like a Veela?”

Hermione was blushing at the compliments but managed to thank Percy anyway.

“So, what do you have to offer her?” George teased, “Other than obvious ferret-like qualities?”

“My winning personality,” Draco replied sarcastically.

Weasley and Potter burst into laughter, quickly followed by most of the table. Draco had never realized he had such an untapped talent for comedy.

Hermione stifled the giggle which had burst out of her mouth when Draco turned to regard her with one raised eyebrow.

“You find me amusing?” he asked.

“No,” she gasped. After clearing her throat, she repeated, “No. I have no idea why they’re laughing.”

“Sure,” Draco replied, clearly not fooled, “I’m completely convinced.”

“So, what do you have to offer?” Hermione teased.

“What do you want?”

“That’s the real question,” she mused.

Potter spoke up, “For years she wanted a red-headed dork who didn’t have enough sense to ask her out. I wouldn’t trust her judgement.”

Both Weasley and Hermione protested that comment. George offered Potter a high five.

“Incoming owls,” Arthur said, his eyes on a small cluster of the birds rapidly becoming larger.

Ginny opened the door so the four owls could swoop into the room. Within seconds two were sitting on the perch near the window, one clung to the back of Potter’s chair and another landed in the middle of the table.

“I’m glad we’ve finished eating,” Molly decided as she watched a feather land in the chicken.


	30. Letters

The barn owl who had added a feather to the meal hopped forward toward Arthur. He reached out to take the letter carefully.

Hermione was already digging out treats to offer the birds. One on the perch hopped over to her and flapped its wings. She took the letter carefully and held out a treat.

“Bloody monster!” Weasley yelped. The letter he had reached for was yanked away and he dodged a clawed foot aimed in his direction.

Once the letters had been handed to the recipients, treats had been eaten and the owls left in a flurry of feathers Arthur, Hermione, Draco and Harry each held a letter sealed with the Ministry stamp.

_Dear Mr Draco Malfoy,_

_The last Will and Testament of Mr Severus Snape is to be read on Wednesday the 10 th of June in the Ministry of Magic. You have been mentioned in the document, so your presence is mandatory._

_Present yourself to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement: Estates Division at 11:00am._

Draco didn’t bother reading which bureaucrat had signed their name to the bottom of the letter. He was too busy wondering why Hermione and Potter were receiving letters too. Severus had been his Godfather; to them he was just a teacher.

“I’m escorting you three to the Ministry on Wednesday morning to hear a Will being read,” Arthur mused.

“Whose Will?” Molly asked curiously.

“Professor Snape,” Hermione said quietly, “Why would he mention me or Harry?”

“Maybe he left you a bunch of Potions books so you can do extra homework?” Weasley suggested.

“That might explain Hermione being mentioned but not Harry,” Ginny pointed out.

Potter was frowning at the letter as though he could make it share its secrets through the power of his eyes, “I bet it’s to do with my mum,” he said finally.

George and Ron began trying to think of anything Snape would want to give them. Hermione appreciated their attempts to lighten the mood, but she seriously doubted anyone would want black robes just to be able to dress like a bat at Halloween.

“I bet he left you lots of shampoo,” Weasley joked to Potter, “Since he never used any.”

“Hair care assistance from Snape,” George mused, “Well if anyone needs help with that it would be Harry. I’ve already ordered a brush for you for Christmas.”

“Didn’t you get me one last year?” Potter asked.

“Clearly you didn’t use it,” Charlie teased.

Draco listened to their teasing as he finished lunch. He had always longed for siblings; having House Elves was not a good substitute. Theodore Nott had been a regular visitor for as long as he could remember, so he was as close to a brother as Draco had ever had. His mother used to joke that he was her second son.

He worried about Theo; his mother had died when he was young, and his Father had been a very committed Death Eater; so he was in Azkaban. Draco didn’t like to imagine Theo sitting alone in a big, lonely house for the whole summer.

Draco had written to Theo a few days before the Death Eaters came to Malfoy Manor. He worried that he had not received a reply.

Theo had always been treated badly by Nott Senior for not being twisted enough. Well before Voldemort had returned, the Death Eaters would gather at Nott Manor to hold ‘revels’ where Muggles were tortured for entertainment. Theo had been expected to participate once he reached the age of fourteen and his refusal had nearly resulted in his death. He had moved to a different Nott property and avoided his father after that. Draco still wasn’t sure how he had avoided being branded with the Dark Mark or killed.

“You’re worried,” Hermione said quietly.

Draco nodded, “Just thinking about a friend I haven’t heard from since the war.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Theo Nott.”

“He was always weird,” Weasley offered from across the table.

“You’d be weird too if you had the kind of upbringing Theo had,” Draco retorted. He excused himself from table and headed upstairs to the room decorated by pictures of dragons. He knew he had to reach out to Theo again. The parchment and quill waited patiently where he had left them after writing his last letter.

_Dear Theo,_

_I’m not at Malfoy Manor anymore; I’m at the Burrow. I hope you received the last letter I sent via owl. If you can’t reply that way it is safe to Floo me._

_Seriously, if I don’t hear from you within a few days I’ll report you as missing._

  * _Draco_



Draco left the letter on the table. He would wait until the small owl ‘Pig’ returned so he wasn’t monopolizing all the Weasley owls.

His mind drifted back to the happy family gathering he had left. He had played along but he had always been able to recognise a liar. The Weasley family was not as unaffected by the war as they pretended; some of their laughter was clearly forced and he had noticed the flinches whenever one of them was surprised.

Draco had been wrestling with nightmares for years. The cruelties at the hands of his father had morphed into horrors he had not been able to imagine before Voldemort had showed up and demonstrated. Nagini would haunt him forever. He couldn’t even look at the snake symbol on his school robes without experiencing a cold splash of dread.

The knock on the door startled him out of his dark memories.

“Come in,” Draco called in a bored voice.

The door swung open to reveal Hermione. He took a moment to appreciate her standing there in the tank top he had been admiring all morning. She was the picture of feminine temptation.

“I can’t,” she replied, “The ward on this door stops females from entering.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “I haven’t even gathered the courage to ask you out and Molly Weasley is worried about us getting frisky? That’s just stupid.”

“Pig has returned with a letter and won’t let anyone take it,” Hermione told him, blushing at his candid admission that he wanted to ask her out, “Come stop him from flying around the house like an idiot.”

“That owl has as much common sense as his owner,” Draco huffed.

The small owl was racing around the living room at top speed. Weasley and Potter were watching the moronic creature as though they could stop him with their brain power. Draco silently observed that between them they wouldn’t have the ability to slow down a flea.

The bird shot toward Draco, who held his arm out patiently. He had learned the hard way that an owl landing on your shoulder left you with a face full of feathers.

Pig hopped up his arm and waved the letter at him. Draco took it from him gently and was serenaded by the hooting twit.

“I’m going to start sending letters to Australia or something,” Weasley declared irritably, “There is something wrong with that owl.”

The sharp stab of grief which Draco felt assault his gut was not his own. He glanced at Hermione, who was hiding her reaction well.

The contents of the letter were shocking. He read it once and then stuffed it into his pocket and distracted himself by procuring owl treats for Pig.

“Why does he like me so much?” Draco asked as Pig continued to hop around happily.

“He loves _everyone_ ,” Potter replied, “He’s a bit of an idiot actually. You know how some owls hate everyone except their owner? Well Pig adores everyone. I’ve even seen him out in the garden trying to make friends with Gnomes.”

“I found him stuffed head-first into a hole out there,” Weasley added, “I couldn’t tell if he was trying to follow the Gnomes or if they got sick of him and stuffed him there to shut him up.”

Potter shrugged, “Could be either.”

Hermione had felt the shock and dismay which had flooded through Draco as he read the letter. She was curious of course, but also concerned that he had received a communication from Lucius. Their friendship was too new for her to ask him outright.

“Well, I have a letter to send to Theo, so Pig should enjoy that once he’s rested for a few hours. I have no idea where Theo might be.”

Weasley decided that harassing his brothers into a game of Quidditch was a great way to spend the afternoon. Draco would never understand how Hermione had harboured feelings for the redhead for so long; he was so far below her intellectually it was unimaginable. He was sure Weasley devoted the majority of his brainpower to eating and Quidditch.

“Before you go, Weasley,” Draco spoke up, “The letter is from the lady I’m thinking of setting you up with.”

Suddenly Weasley was all ears, which was saying something as his ears were not small at the best of times.

“She’s actually interested? Really?”

“Yes,” Draco admitted, “Though she wants me to pass on some information first. If you decide afterwards that you are not interested, she will understand.”

Weasley appeared confused, which was clearly his default expression.

“Is she secretly a man?”

“Not that I know of,” Draco replied irritably, “Why are you so sure I’m going to set you up with a guy? Are you trying to tell us something?”

Weasley rolled his eyes, “It’s just the kind of prank you’d pull Malfoy.”

“Whatever,” Draco said dismissively, “Anyway, just before the Battle for Hogwarts she was bitten by Greyback.”

Weasley sat down on the lounge and Potter exchanged a worried glance with Hermione.

“Does she shift like Lupin or does she just get cravings for raw steak like Bill?” Hermione asked.

“Bill was bitten by a werewolf?” Draco asked worriedly. He had noticed the scars on his face of course but had been too polite to question the older wizard about them.

“Yeah, in Sixth Year,” Potter replied, “That was Greyback too but it wasn’t full moon, so Bill doesn’t shift.”

Draco pulled out the letter and reread it, “She doesn’t shift,” he concluded, “She craves the rare steak and gets really moody at the full moon.”

Weasley appeared relieved, “No problems then,” he decided, “Does she want to come here or meet up somewhere else?”

“I’ll Floo her later,” Draco replied as he disguised his surprise.

Weasley and Potter left to organise their game of Quidditch while Draco remained in the living room beside Hermione with the letter in his hand.

“Did you expect a different reaction?” Hermione asked quietly.

Of course, he did; only his long friendship with the girl in question had negated the revulsion which welled up at the thought of being infected with Lycanthropy. Knowing she would not shift was very reassuring to his sense of self-preservation, but he was sure his interactions with her would be initially awkward. How could anyone politely offer condolences for something like that?

Draco knew that pureblood girls were matched to suitable husbands in their late teens. He wondered if such an arrangement had already been broken because of the werewolf bite. It was certainly fitting that Weasley was one of the few purebloods who would not give a toss about such a thing.

Draco nodded thoughtfully, “I liked Lupin but in general werewolves are terrifying. All magical children are taught that they are monsters.”

Hermione squeezed his hand, “For one night a month they can be. The Wolfsbane potion prevents even the one night of craziness.”

“Bill does seem pretty normal,” Draco admitted. He knew that an attack by Greyback during Sixth Year translated to ‘the night when Draco let Death Eaters into Hogwarts and nearly killed Dumbledore’.

“He is the same man he was before he was attacked,” Hermione agreed.

Draco sighed, “I’m beginning to think that everything I was taught as a child is bullshit.”

Hermione giggled, “Well after spending time with your mother I can tell you that your penis will not turn purple and stop working if you have sex before marriage.”

Draco gaped at her, “She told you _that_?”

“And much more. She is hilarious when she’s had a few.”


	31. Normal

After the informal Quidditch game ended in yelling and accusations of cheating Potter, Weaslette, Weasley and Hermione decided to return to Diagon Alley with George. Draco had been invited but declined, citing the house-restriction.

Hermione squeezed his hand reassuringly and asked if there was anything she could pick up for him. He admitted his sweet tooth and suggested something containing chocolate would be welcome.

“Ginny and Harry are going to sneak off to Grimmauld Place,” Hermione confided softly.

Draco grimaced, “Then, I’ve changed my mind; I’ll need something to stave off impending nausea.”

“You have no sense of romance,” Hermione complained, “If you think you’re going to woo me, you’d better develop some.”

Draco couldn’t stop himself from grinning, “I am a romantic,” he insisted, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles, “But the image of Potter trying to seduce Weaslette really does turn my stomach.”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, “Then, don’t imagine it.”

“I bet she’s going to wear leather, carry a whip and tie him up,” Draco whispered.

Hermione pressed her hand over his mouth, “Just stop talking. Right now.”

Ginny entered the room with a smile, “That’s not how you strangle him,” she said to her friend.

“Ready to go?” Hermione asked, withdrawing her hand from his face.

“Yep, the boys are putting brooms away. Are you sure you don’t want to tag along, Draco?” Ginny inquired politely.

“No thanks,” Draco managed, still relishing the feel of his mate’s hand on his face, “Apart from the danger of being arrested, tt would only take one person spotting me and screaming that I’m a horrid Death Eater who should be locked up to ruin my good mood.”

Ginny frowned at the idea, “Does that happen often?”

He shrugged, “Every time I go to Diagon Alley.”

Harry, Ron and George were still arguing about the outcome of the Quidditch game as they headed toward the fireplace. As they were leaving Malfoy said something to Ginny which clearly confused her. She was the last to appear in Diagon Alley where the others waited.

Hermione narrowed her eyes at her friend, “What?”

Ginny hummed thoughtfully, “Why would Draco want to know if I was allergic to leather?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Charlie, Percy, Bill and Fleur were settled around the dining room table with Molly and Arthur as the last of the green flames were extinguished.

Draco was honestly lost without Hermione to centre him. He could hear the muffled conversations from the dining room but didn’t bother to focus on the individual words.

Weasley had accepted the news about the werewolf bite so calmly that Draco was still confused. Though the redhead could be rather dopey at times, he was not an idiot. If he was able to accept the condition so easily then maybe there really wasn’t anything to fear?

Draco approached the dining room and planned to wait for a natural lull in the conversation. He was not surprised when his presence made the noise come to a screeching halt.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Draco offered, pretending they were not waiting for the unstable Veela to do something dramatic, “I was hoping I could speak to you Bill?”

“Sure.”

Bill followed the blonde back into the living room. He had heard stories about Draco being a bully at school but as he had observed only polite, courteous behaviour he was not going to act on hearsay.

“I need your opinion,” Draco confessed as Bill sat down near him, “There’s a girl I have known since we were kids and she was bitten by a werewolf just before the Battle for Hogwarts.”

Bill’s eyebrows disappeared into his hair, “Greyback?”

Draco nodded, “It was between full moons, so she doesn’t shift.”

Bill nodded, “So she’s like me. What do you want to know?”

Draco was too ashamed to meet his eyes, “First of all, I’m sorry I let Death Eaters into Hogwarts. It’s my fault you were bitten.”

“I don’t blame you,” Bill replied, “I’d do anything to save my family too.”

Draco wouldn’t stop feeling guilty even if everyone in the world decided he was not to blame.

“Will my friend be the same now? How does the bite impact her personality?”

“It made me more confident I think,” Bill recalled, “More impatient and occasionally aggressive. I’m not sure how much of that translates in a female. Who is she?”

“Well, I can’t tell you yet,” Draco replied, “She has had a crush on Ron for a couple of years and wants me to introduce them. She insisted that I tell him about the bite before I reveal anything.”

“How did Ron react?”

Bill could see the confusion on the face of the younger wizard, “He didn’t care. I might have told him she had a broken fingernail.”

Bill chuckled, “Sometimes he is a dope, but in this case I am very proud of him. The full moon is on Wednesday so I’m assuming she won’t be visiting until after that?”

Draco nodded, “I was thinking Friday lunchtime. I’ll have to ask Molly if that’s suitable.”

Bill grinned, “Let’s ask her now; I might be able to wrangle an invitation too.”

Once again Draco mourned for his own childhood. Why was he raised in a cold, sterile manor when families offering warmth and love existed elsewhere?

Molly beamed at the idea of a girl wanting to meet her youngest son. Draco understood; until Weasley found a girl he would hang around like a bad smell.

“So, she’s a secret for now?” Arthur asked with a smile, “How mysterious. I’m sure Ron is drowning in curiosity already.”

Draco shrugged, “When he bugs me I just mention something about Quidditch. He is easily distracted.”

Charlie was watching him curiously, “How did you get the job of match-maker?”

“Well Hermione was upset by how immature Weasley was acting; this was all I could think of to get him off her back.”

“What’s she like?” Molly asked.

“Beautiful, witty and she passes all her classes. She likes to watch Quidditch but doesn’t play herself,” Draco revealed. He had to be careful so no-one could guess her identity.

“When did she develop a crush on Ron?” Fleur asked.

“Fifth Year,” Draco recalled, “When he joined the Gryffindor Quidditch team. He finally gained some confidence and she was hooked.”

“Did she help write that song Ron hates so much?” Bill asked.

Draco dropped his eyes to the table, “No. She was very ticked off about it actually. I didn’t hear the end of it for about a year.” He had tried to forget the racy lyrics she had made up herself to suit the beat.

Bill decided to take pity on him, “Mum, apparently she was bitten by Greyback before the end of the war. I was hoping I could be here to meet her in case she has any questions?”

“That’s a good idea. When would she like to visit?”

“I was thinking Friday lunchtime?” Draco suggested, “The full moon is on Wednesday.”

“That should be enough time to recover,” Bill agreed.

“Wixon and Moxie,” Molly called.

The two House Elves appeared and stared up at her calmly. Molly grinned at them.

“We will be having three guests on Friday for lunch; do you need anything to help the preparations?”

Wixon regarded her thoughtfully, “We have been expanding the vegetable garden and tending to the chickens. May we accompany you to the shop to purchase some supplies?”

“That would be wonderful,” Molly agreed, “We can go on Wednesday when the others will be at the Ministry.”

“Excellent,” Moxie agreed.

They disappeared together and Molly sighed at the spot that had inhabited, “I love having House Elves. They’re so helpful!”

“We should have traded Ron in for one years ago,” Charlie agreed with a grin.

“You tease your brother too much,” Molly chided, “Surely you have something better to do. Have you found yourself a girlfriend yet?”

Charlie frowned into his cup of tea, “No.”

“Or a boyfriend?” Bill prompted.

“I’m not interested in men,” Charlie reminded his brother.

“Well what’s the hold-up then?” Bill asked with a cheeky smile, “Mum and dad want to see grandchildren soon.”

“You can provide them then,” Charlie replied.

“We plan to,” Fleur replied, “And we want them growing up with plenty of cousins to play with, so find yourself a girl.”

Draco was enjoying listening to their mocking of each other and hoped that they would forget he was present.

“What about you Perc?” Charlie asked the third brother, “Has Penny dropped any hints about wanting to get married?”

Percy rolled his eyes, “Penny and I are quite happy to remain as we are for a while. Between my work at the Ministry and her duties at St Mungo’s we barely have time for each other, let alone children.”

“I bet she will be busy for a long time,” Fleur commented.

Arthur addressed Draco, who was clearly out of the loop, “Penelope works as a Mind Healer. She has been assigned many patients who are experiencing difficulties after the war.”

“Have you been to see someone, Mum?” Percy asked gently.

Molly nodded, “Yes, last week. It has been really helpful. I wish Ron and Ginny would stop being stubborn and accept some help.”

“Harry and Hermione can be convinced,” Arthur added, “If Hogwarts has some stationed at the school I’m sure they will sign up.”

“What about you Draco?” Molly asked in a motherly fashion, “I’m sure having someone to talk to would be helpful.”

Draco had never thought about seeking assistance for the nightmares or occasional panic attack; he had assumed he deserved to suffer.

“I hadn’t considered it,” he admitted.

“After living with Voldemort I’m sure there is a lot to deal with,” Arthur mused, “I don’t even want to imagine the horrors which occurred in Malfoy Manor.”

Fleur was watching the blonde with wide eyes, “He was in your house?”

Draco nodded reluctantly, “He moved in after my Father was sent to Azkaban.”

“I don’t know how you sleep at night,” Fleur admitted, “I only saw him from a distance, and I was still terrified.”

Draco found himself staring at the faded, patchy remains of the Dark Mark.

“How am I supposed to intimidate you like a big brother would if you’ve survived living with the Flat-Nosed-Bastard?” Charlie asked, clearly annoyed.

“I don’t think you need to,” Bill laughed, “Hermione is perfectly capable of kicking arse six ways from Sunday.”

“I know that,” Charlie huffed, “But we have limited opportunities to intimidate boys sniffing around our sisters. Ginny is officially off the market so we’re down to this.”

Bill nodded thoughtfully, “And we can’t let this opportunity pass us by.”

Fleur shook her head at her husband, “How about we have some daughters so you can play the angry father when she brings a boy home?”

Bill grinned at her, “Well, this is practising for that. I have to hone my skills on Malfoy.”

“I’m right here,” Draco pointed out, “Shouldn’t you two be making plans somewhere away from here?”

“Just ignore them,” Arthur said with a smile, “They tease Harry all the time. I think it’s some sort of initiation ritual.”

“How are you handling the separation?” Fleur asked Draco kindly.

He shrugged, “Alright I guess. It hurt when she went with Aunt Andromeda, but I could feel how much fun she was having so that helped.”

“You can _feel_ her?” Charlie realized.

Draco nodded, “I can always tell what direction I need to travel to find her. She pulls me to her.”

“How romantic,” Molly sighed.

“It sounds bloody annoying if you ask me,” Charlie decided, “Can she do the same thing? If you were to go out on a pub crawl would she be able to track you down?”

“I don’t think so,” Draco replied, wondering how often Charlie spent evenings in pubs, “She can feel my emotions sometimes.”

“The Mate feels an echo of the Veela’s instincts,” Fleur said directly to Charlie, “If the Mate accepts the suit, all is well. If rejected the Veela will die but the Mate can live a relatively normal life.”

“Normal,” Charlie scoffed, “Since when has Hermione ever had a ‘normal’ life?”


	32. Uncomfortable Truths

Harry and Ginny had managed twenty minutes of shopping before splitting off from Hermione and Ron. Their behaviour was clearly suspicious, but Hermione knew what was going on. For once she was glad that Ron didn’t analyse behaviour beyond the surface level.

After an hour of Ron drooling in the Quidditch shop Hermione was very bored. She was valiantly blocking any thoughts of what Harry and Ginny were doing and trying to ignore the ache in her chest. After only a few days she actually missed having Draco hanging around making comments to irritate Ron.

“Alright Hermione,” Ron sighed, “Let’s go get something to eat. I can see that you’ve tried really hard to fake an interest in Quidditch and I appreciate it.”

“Thank Merlin!” Hermione replied, “I’ve already counted how many marks are on the ceiling.”

Ron remained quiet while Hermione ordered some pastries and selected a chair in the bakery. Rather than eat with his usual enthusiasm, he picked at his meal absently.

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” Hermione asked gently.

Ron shook his head frantically.

“I’m not sure how to help, then.”

Ron sighed, “I’m not an idiot, you know.”

Hermione blinked at him in confusion, “I know you’re not an idiot. What are you talking about?”

Ron was clearly contemplating something extremely disgusting judging by the expression he was wearing, “I know that Harry and Ginny have snuck off to do unspeakable things.”

Hermione pressed her bottom lip between her teeth, “We weren’t sure how you’d react.”

“I’m nauseous,” Ron admitted, “I love Harry but the thought of any bloke -” he shuddered dramatically.

“Don’t think about it,” Hermione encouraged quickly.

“I could focus on you and the Ferret gazing at each other like love-sick hippogriffs?” Ron suggested, “That’s nearly as bad; I can see the lust every time he looks at you.”

“He can’t help the Veela thing,” Hermione replied quietly.

Ron nibbled on some of the pastry he had torn to shreds, “You’re drawn to him already?”

Hermione nodded, “He is quite attractive now that he has stopped acting like an arsehole.”

“Eat your food,” Ron muttered.

Hermione indulged him; he was not raving about Harry or Draco needing to be neutered so she was rather pleased with his maturity.

“I still want to hate your Ferret,” Ron said quietly, “Especially when he trails after you like a horny puppy. I hope he doesn’t start humping your leg.”

Hermione frowned at him pointedly. After years of friendship he knew when she was annoyed with him.

“Do you have a point Ronald?” she asked acidly. For a scary moment Ron was vividly reminded of his mother.

“I’ve thought about what he said,” Ron continued, “If it was my mum being threatened with rape and torture, I’d take the Dark Mark and let Death Eaters into wherever they wanted to go.”

Hermione reached out to cover his hand with hers. She knew how much it cost him to admit that the world he wanted to see in shades of black and white was filled with shades of grey.

“I can’t hate him, or even blame him for the stuff he did,” Ron concluded, “He’s still bloody annoying though.”

Hermione smiled at him, knowing that he would always speak the truth no matter who was around. She admired how open he was and counted herself fortunate be his friend.

“The same rules apply,” Hermione reminded him, “No wands. If Draco insults you, fire back without hesitation. I think you two enjoy pissing each other off.”

“It was more fun when Harry was on my side too,” Ron replied.

“Well, now you and Harry can plot how to annoy Draco. If that gets boring, you and Draco can plot how to annoy Harry. What are you going to do if he shows up wearing a shit-eating grin which makes it obvious what he’s been doing?”

Ron stared at her in horror, “He wouldn’t.”

Hermione shrugged, “He might not even realize until we tell him. Ginny might decide to throw a ‘I’m not a Virgin anymore’ party if she really wants to annoy you.”

“She bloody would, too,” Ron muttered.

“She was thinking of having the Engagement party before we return to Hogwarts,” Hermione told him, “Harry suggested they combine it with his birthday and celebrate at the castle.”

Ron smiled, “He was so pissed off when he found out that the Ministry had made his birthday a National Holiday. You should have heard him talking in his sleep; I didn’t know he knew such nasty words.”

An awful though made Hermione gape at him, “Does he talk about Ginny in his sleep? You might want to cast a silencing spell on him tonight.”

“Please stop talking about that,” Ron begged, “I’m scarred for life already.”

“Then you should definitely go see the Mind Healer your mum keeps nagging you about,” Hermione replied.

“You get nagged too; are you going to see one?”

Hermione nodded, “I’m sure there will be some stationed at Hogwarts. I’d like to settle in to seeing one regularly.”

“Are the panic attacks getting worse?” Ron didn’t like contemplating something so related to feelings and other awkward topics, but he would make an exception for Hermione.

“No, but they’re not getting better either. I’m averaging one a week and I know the first one I have in front of Draco will freak him out.”

“He was pretty good with the nightmares,” Ron admitted, “For a Ferret.”

“If you keep calling him a Ferret he’s going to refer to you as a Weasel.”

Ron shrugged, “If he comes through with his promise to set me up with a beautiful girl in the right age range I’ll drop the Ferret title, as promised.”

Hermione still found it hard to believe that a girl had confided her crush on Ron to Draco of all people. She strongly suspected the girl in question was a Slytherin, though Ron was hoping she was not.

“Has he dropped any hints on who my secret admirer is?” Ron asked hopefully.

Hermione shook her head, “Not even one. Imagine the threats she had to impart to ensure his secrecy for over two years; he might be automatically castrated if he lets it slip too soon.”

Ron polished off the last of his snack with a smile, “That wouldn’t bother me. I wonder if I could trick him into telling and see what falls off?”

“Sure, give it a try. I bet annoying him won’t make him complain to the mystery lady about you,” Hermione replied with a clear hint of sarcasm.

“I’m allowed to resent him,” Ron complained, “If he wasn’t a Veela, I reckon you and I would have gotten married and all that.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “You said kissing me was like kissing Ginny.”

“That’s because of the mystic magic crap reserving you for him. Without that we’d be all over each other; the chemistry would have been undeniable.”

“What do you know about chemistry?” Hermione laughed.

“Not much.”

“Do you think Harry is the type to want to talk about his sex life?” Hermione mused while Ron looked nauseous again, “I’m sure Ginny is going to be dying to give awful details I don’t want to contemplate.”

“Hermione, I just ate,” Ron groaned, “Unless you want to see the food again; stop talking about my sister. She is a virgin and always will be.”

“You’re not a virgin; why should she be?” Hermione challenged.

“Because I am obligated to kill any males who sniff around her like that; Harry only gets to keep his neck because he’s my best mate,” Ron explained, “If I have an aneurism sometime this week it’s because the conflict was too much to survive.”

“Or Ginny shared details about Harry’s -”

“Stop. Talking.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Percy bid farewell to his family and promised to pass along their well wishes to his girlfriend. Draco wasn’t sure how he felt about the reserved Weasley brother; somehow he didn’t fit in with the rest of the family.

He observed the tension in the remaining family members, though Fleur seemed immune. The blonde witch spotted his confused expression and smiled before heading back into the dining room. Arthur, Molly and their two eldest sons were in the living room discussing rumours which were circulating around the Ministry.

“You have questions about Percy?” Fleur asked quietly. She offered him a cup of tea which he declined; he was beginning to suspect that offering the hot beverage was really code for ‘spill some secrets’.

“He is not like the other brothers,” Draco said simply.

“Percy has always been more ambitious than the rest of the family,” Fleur explained, “He sided with the Ministry when everyone was labelling Harry a liar. Percy still blames himself for the rift which developed. He feels that he betrayed his family.”

“Ridiculous,” Draco decided, “He ended up fighting for his family; a mistake in judgement shouldn’t overshadow that.”

“We always judge ourselves more harshly than anyone else,” Fleur said serenely, “You should know that better than anyone.”

“I still resent you for spewing Veela facts to my mate against my wishes,” Draco replied coldly.

“Resent all you like if it makes you feel better,” Fleur replied, “You are the silly boy who was resigned to dying to martyr yourself.”

“So, you were trying to save me? What did I do to deserve your concern?”

Fleur rolled her eyes and sat down at the table. Draco reluctantly did the same.

“We are an endangered species Draco,” Fleur pointed out, “Each one of us plays a vital role in our overall survival. There is also the fact that you were being selfish.”

“Selfish?” Draco repeated incredulously, “I’ve been selfish my whole damn life; trying to spare Hermione was one of the few times I have tried to think of someone else instead.”

“Bullshit,” Fleur replied confidently, “You were scared that she would reject you, so you tried to avoid the issue completely. You would have denied her the opportunity to be happy with her true mate and that’s selfish.”

“Do you stick your nose in everyone’s business, or am I special?” Draco sneered.

“You are special,” Fleur replied, not at all intimidated, “As you clearly need the assistance.”

“What do I need help with exactly?” Draco asked.

“Being a Veela.”

He rolled his eyes at her, “I’ve managed so far. I haven’t even hexed your youngest brother-in-law and that’s pretty amazing by any standard.”

“You are a fool,” Fleur stated flatly, “You are burying the Veela instincts under layers of human expectations. We are a passionate, volatile species. If you deny yourself for too long you will lose control.”

“I’ll admit you are an expert on female Veela,” Draco allowed, “Yet, the male remains a mystery. For all you know females are crazy and the males are perfectly controlled gentlemen.”

“You are grasping at straws,” Fleur warned him, “The reputation of the male Veela persists while records do not because they are dangerous, possessive and violent. How itchy are your gums?”

The reply Draco was preparing in his mind vanished like a wisp of smoke. The twinges around his canine teeth had grown steadily worse since the confrontation with George Weasley.

“Females don’t suffer that until they have been Veela for at least a month. After just two days you feel it. Your fangs are fully developed and ready to emerge.”

Suddenly Draco wished he had a cup of tea to hide behind; she could read him far too well.

“Are you already strangely addicted to the thump of her heart?” Fleur continued.

Draco nodded silently. The lack of knowledge surrounding his condition gaped before him like a precipice.

“You have two desires; to mate with her and to mark her. If you suppress one the other will grow stronger. I suggest you discuss with her which one is preferable.”

“And I mark her by biting her?” Draco extrapolated.

Fleur nodded, “You crave a mouthful of her blood, willingly given to seal the bond during sex. Small nips will suffice in the meantime but do not leave it too long or you risk hurting her.”

“I didn’t think a Veela could hurt their mate.”

“A female cannot; the men chosen are particularly strong and healthy. I believe male Veela have such a harsh reputation because they can force their will on their mate.”

Draco glared at her, “I would never.”

Fleur shrugged, “I hope not; yet you are already longing to bite her after two days. How will you cope after a few months?”


	33. Roof Issues

Hermione and Ron lingered in Diagon Alley until they were both quite bored. They were relieved that they didn’t have to face their friends knowing what had been going on in Grimmauld Place, yet returning home without the couple would also prompt questions.

“We’ll just say they decided to eat dinner at a restaurant somewhere,” Ron offered.

“And if they show up dishevelled and starving?” Hermione wondered.

Ron shrugged, “When did life become so shit? I never thought I’d end up standing around trying to cover for my mate and my sister sneaking off for a shag.”

“Or multiple shags,” Hermione mused.

Ron glared at her, “You’re making this worse.”

“Do you think Harry is the type to hide her knickers in his pocket?” Hermione teased.

Ron snorted, “I’d be more worried about Ginny nailing his undies to her bedroom door for everyone to see.”

“She’d better not,” Hermione declared, “That’s my door too.”

“Let’s Apparate back and then try to avoid mum until the lovebirds show up,” Ron suggested, “If she asks, they were sitting in some café staring at each other and I wanted to vomit so we left.”

Hermione shrugged, “Oddly plausible.”’

“You first,” Ron prompted, “I know you use the same tree as a landmark. I don’t want to risk ending up as your freakish Siamese twin.”

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him before concentrating on the very tree he had mentioned. The pressure of Apparating was annoying but necessary.

The Burrow appeared before her, shrouded by dim light filtered by the clouds. She moved forward quickly and heard Ron pop into the area behind her.

“What’s he doing up there?” Ron wondered aloud.

Hermione glanced back to see Ron staring up at the roof of his home. Hermione followed his gaze to see Draco lying on the slanted surface.

“Thinking?” Hermione suggested.

“I hope it starts pouring rain,” Ron mused, “I’ve always wondered what a falling ferret would sound like.”

“The same as a falling Weasel, I expect,” Hermione retorted.

“You’ve been spending too much time with him,” Ron complained.

“Well do us both a favour; grab a broom and go up there to tell him that he is clearly sulking and should get down here to talk to his mate instead.”

Ron was watching her strangely, “That’s the first time I’ve heard you refer to yourself as his mate.”

Hermione shrugged. The idea had been confronting at first, but she had grown accustomed to it.

“Maybe we should go up there to avoid mum?” Ron suggested.

“I hate flying,” Hermione reminded him shortly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco could feel the ache in his chest abruptly ease. He smiled at the sky, content that his mate had returned to him.

The conversation from earlier, when Ron had mentioned sending Pig to Australia, still plagued him. The emotional pain which Hermione had hidden from everyone else worried him.

Draco could hear Hermione complaining, and could feel her anxiety. Weasley was trying to convince her to get on a broom, which she was apparently scared of doing.

He wasn’t tempted to intercede; he knew that Ron would never hurt his mate. It was disconcerting to realize that the redheaded, freckled git could be so trusted.

He listened to Hermione complain as she mounted the broom and the protests continued as her voice drifted closer to him.

“You’re going to break my ribs!” Weasley protested as his head finally came into view.

Draco did not like the way Hermione was wrapped around the other male. A possessive rage welled up inside him suddenly.

“Grab her, Malfoy!” Weasley instructed tersely, “She’s going to strangle me!”

Draco used the image of Weasley gasping for breath to calm himself. He reached for Hermione, who threw one arm around his neck in a desperate bid for safely.

Weasley hovered over the edge of the roof until Hermione had both feet secured on the roof tiles. He backed away as soon as she turned to address him.

“This was a stupid idea!” Hermione hissed at Weasley.

“We’re avoiding mum,” Weasley reminded her, “She won’t look for us up here.”

Draco could feel his fingers twitching with the desire to push Weasley off his broom. The sensation of Hermione pressed against him from knee to shoulder was a convenient distraction.

“You smell like him,” Draco growled into her ear.

Hermione leaned back to study his face worriedly, “Your eyes are black.”

“I want you to smell like me,” he continued.

“If you two are going to start snogging, I’m going to throw myself off this roof,” Weasley announced.

“Enjoy the trip,” Draco replied rudely.

Hermione tapped him in the forehead with one index finger, “Earth to Draco. Where did your manners go?”

Weasley watched the blonde lower his head to sniff her shoulder. It was disturbing, yet oddly fascinating.

“Ew!” Hermione laughed, “Did you just lick me?”

Draco smirked into her cheek, “You have a tasty neck.”

“Are you a Veela or a Vampire?” Weasley wondered as his broom drifted away from the couple.

“They’re related,” Hermione told him.

Draco smiled, revealing a pair of sharp fangs, “I’m learning that.”

Hermione reached out to touch one of the fangs. Behind her Ron made a choking noise to indicate his disapproval.

“Why are you flashing fangs at me?” Hermione asked curiously.

“You smelling like him has brought out my possessive side,” Draco explained in a voice which was deeper than normal, “Female Veela bite their mate after a few months; apparently males move faster.”

“I smell like Ron?” Hermione realized. She didn’t admire the heightened sense of smell he had developed.

“I don’t stink!” Weasley protested.

“Can I have a moment alone with my mate?” Draco asked him with forced politeness.

Ron wrinkled his nose at the couple in front of him. Facing his mother to explain that Harry and Ginny were off getting naked became more appealing when compared to the way Malfoy had his hands on Hermione.

“I’ll fly to the far edge of the swamp and back again. You two had better be fully dressed when I get back!”

Draco snorted in derision as the redhead sped away, “As if I’d want to seduce you on the bloody roof,” he said to Hermione, “These tiles dig in bad enough just leaning on them.”

Hermione was blushing. The mention of seduction had sent her heart rate through the roof.

“So, um, what did you want to talk about?”

“Fleur thinks I am suppressing the Veela instincts too much, and will eventually lose control,” Draco admitted.

The grip Hermione had on his arm to maintain her balance abruptly tightened, “How much are you holding back?”

Draco couldn’t admit how badly he wanted to make love to her; that was driven by teenage hormones as much as any Veela tendency.

“I’m not sure. I’ve been hiding my emotions for so many years that it becomes a habit. I wanted to push Weasley off his broom though.”

Hermione frowned at him, “That’s not really new though, is it?”

“No, but I was furious that I could smell him on you.”

Hermione pressed her cheek onto his shoulder, “I’m not sure how to change that; I am not taking my top off.”

“Fly with me,” Draco encouraged, “I’ll stay low to the ground and you can sit behind me; after a little while you’ll smell more of me than him.”

“I hate flying.”

Draco ran his hand along her back and felt something shift in his brain. Hermione glanced up at him curiously when he whispered her name.

He felt something foreign move inside his brain, igniting a power which was incredibly seductive.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Draco whispered to his mate. Her pupils were dilated, and her eyes were fixed on his.

“I want to have my feet firmly on the ground,” Hermione replied in a voice devoid of emotion, “I want you to kiss me.”

The surge of confidence he experienced worried him. He had somehow transfixed her.

“Hermione, are you alright?”

She smiled back, “I’m wonderful.”

Draco wondered if he should shake her out of the trance he had accidently put her in. He did not want to risk making it worse. Her hand reached out to touch his chest before sliding downwards.

“What are you doing?” Draco gasped as he caught her hand centimetres above his groin.

“Whatever you want me to do,” she replied dreamily.

Draco was seriously worried. He needed to get her to the ground before he tried to bring her back. He picked up the broom and swung it into position.

“Get on the broom behind me,” he said calmly.

She didn’t even hesitate. He suspected that he could have told her to throw herself from the roof and she would have acquiesced just as quickly.

“Hold on so you don’t fall.”

Draco was relieved that her hands remained around his stomach as he flew them to the ground; any intimate contact needed to wait until she was in complete control of herself.

Once all four feet were firmly planted on the ground Draco studied her face again. The vacant smile reminded him of Looney Lovegood, only worse.

“Hermione; snap out of it,” he ordered.

“Out of what?” she asked.

He shook her by the shoulders. Confusion crossed her face.

“Why are you unhappy Draco?” she asked worriedly, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Come out of this weird trance!” Draco replied with a hint of panic in his voice. He could see Weasley approaching.

“I’m not sure what you mean,” she sighed.

Draco backed away from her, only to have her match his steps easily.

“You’ve been watching me for days,” she pointed out with that same disturbing smile, “And you seem so stressed. What can I do to help?”

“Take two steps backwards,” he replied.

She complied with a sigh. Weasley landed a few metres away.

“How did you get her on a broom?” the redhead asked curiously.

Draco shook his head, “I’m not sure. I hypnotised her somehow.”

“Yeah, right. Hermione, is this a joke?”

When she didn’t reply Draco observed the alarm and anger register on the freckly face he had always despised.

“What did you do to her?” Weasley demanded.

“I don’t know! She went into this trance and won’t come out!”

“Is this a Veela thing?” Weasley continued, “I know the females are pretty mesmerising, but this is much worse.”

“Really? Is this why Potter keeps you around?” Draco demanded, “To state the obvious and ask stupid questions?”

“Shut up, Malfoy!” Weasley growled, “You’re the idiot who did this to her! I bet that’s how male Veela make sure they get their mate; put her in a trance so she cooperates!”

“Dear Merlin! Hermione, would you slap this idiot please?”

Draco didn’t expect her to turn on her friend and slap him across the face. He jumped forward to pin her arms to her sides before she could repeat the attack.

Weasley started using words which were totally inappropriate to use around a lady.

“She’s obeying your every command?” Weasley bellowed, “Did you _Imperius_ her?”  
“Of course not!” Draco yelled back, “I don’t know how it happened!”

There was a loud POP and Potter appeared on the hill behind the house. Draco groaned internally, knowing the idiotic accusations were about to double.

“What were you trying to do?” Weasley yelled. Potter heard the commotions and jogged toward them. Weaslette appeared behind him with a POP.

“I wanted her to stop being scared of flying!” Draco yelled back.

“And kiss you,” Hermione added, still clearly addled.

“What is going on?” Potter asked worriedly.

“Malfoy did something to Hermione!” Weasley cried, “She’s in a trance or something and she’s obeying his every command!”

Potter narrowed his eyes at Draco threateningly before waving a hand in front of his friend’s face. She didn’t even blink.

“It was an accident!” Draco insisted as Weaslette joined her boyfriend. She clicked her fingers in front of Hermione’s face and received no reaction.

“I looked into her eyes, wished she would speak to me and then her pupils dilated, and she started talking like Lovegood!”

Weaslette gave up on trying to snap Hermione out of it. She considered Draco thoughtfully.

“Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”

She ran back up to the Apparation point and disappeared in a POP.


	34. Unlikely Assistance

“So, she does whatever you say?” Potter repeated, clearly interested.

Draco nodded, “I swear I didn’t mean to do this.”

“Hermione, slap Malfoy in the head,” Potter tried.

Hermione blinked at him, “Why would he want to be slapped in the head?”

Draco rolled his eyes at the raven-haired wizard, “Hermione, flip him the bird please.”

She stuck up her middle finger at Potter without hesitation.

“That’s just rude,” Potter sighed, “Why will she cooperate with you but not us?”

“Because he did it to her, obviously,” Weasley snapped, “Some weird Veela power, I bet.”

“What’s the point?” Potter wondered, “If the instinct is to woo her, and she is clearly going along with it why is this mind control needed?”

“It’s not,” Draco agreed.

“Not yet,” Weasley added darkly, “What happens if your time is running out and she doesn’t want to sleep with you? This is a fail-safe so you can force her.”

Draco was sickened by the idea. He had witnessed so many disgusting acts against women forced to cooperate under the influence of the _Imperius_ curse that the idea of laying one finger on an unwilling female made him want to cut himself.

“I would never do that,” he said in a strained voice.

Weasley shrugged, “For now. The instincts might drive you insane toward the end. Who knows what a desperate male Veela would resort to?”

The POP on the hill heralded the return of Weaslette. A few seconds later a second POP preceded the appearance of Looney Lovegood.

“Great, another weirdo in a trance,” Weasley muttered.

Privately, Draco agreed. Just because Luna was weird didn’t mean she could help return Hermione to normal. It was more likely Hermione would be roped in to a Nargle hunt or something equally ridiculous.

Luna greeted Potter and Weasley before turning to Draco. He was clearly reminded of the time she had spent trapped in the dungeon.

“Hello Draco, it is lovely to see you away from the dungeon; you look much happier now,” Lunda said sweetly. Anyone else would sound sarcastic yet she was completely sincere.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get you out of there,” Draco offered, feeling completely inadequate.

Luna tilted her head quizzically, “You would have been killed if you’d tried that which would have been very sad. I did appreciate the extra food and blankets you ordered the elves to provide.”

“You’re welcome, I guess.”

Weasley was watching Luna like she was the latest exhibit at the zoo. Draco was surprised that he hadn’t launched into a tirade about how all Malfoy’s were evil or something.

“You’re surrounded by Sprute Flies,” Luna mused to Draco, “They usually hang around Veela. Did you pass one?”

Potter and Weasley stared at Luna in shock. Ginny giggled at their expressions.

“Please don’t tell anyone, but I am a Veela,” Draco said to Luna, “I transitioned two days ago.”

Luna smiled, “That’s nice. The Sprute Flies don’t bite but they can make your elbows itchy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Draco replied seriously.

“Since most Veela are female I would be curious to know how bad the itch will be for a male Veela. Try not to draw blood; Sprute Flies love Veela blood.”

“Malfoy hypnotised Hermione by accident,” Weaslette cut in before her brother could say something rude, “We have no idea how to snap her out of it. Do you have any suggestions?”

“Maybe a Sprute Fly crawled into her ear and died in her brain,” Weasley muttered.

“Don’t be silly Ronald,” Luna laughed, “The ear doesn’t lead to the brain.”

Draco observed the way Luna waved her hand in front of Hermione’s eyes and walked around her slowly. Potter and Weaslette observed silently and Weasley was clearly trying not to blurt out something uncomplimentary.

“If it is a Veela trance, perhaps we should remove the Veela from the situation?” Luna suggested.

“Kill Malfoy?” Weasley said excitedly, “I’ll do it.”

Potter rolled his eyes, “Very mature, Ron.”

“Is there another house you can visit for a short period?” Luna suggested to Draco.

“I’ll see if Arthur is free for a quick trip to Dromeda’s house,” Draco sighed.

“I thought you were free to come and go?” Weaslette said.

Draco shrugged, “Maybe, but I don’t want some idiot at the Ministry to add ‘attempting to escape’ to my list of charges.”

Ginny watched Malfoy trudge back toward the house with slumped shoulders.

“Just when I was beginning to think he wasn’t all bad, he pulls this crap,” Weasley spat.

“It was an accident, Ron,” Ginny pointed out.

“So he says! I swear lying is in his blood or something,” Ron insisted.

Luna regarded Ron solemnly, “You’re awfully prejudiced Ronald,” she said simply.

“Come on!” Ron exclaimed, “He stuffed you in the dungeon -”

“No, he didn’t,” Luna snapped. Somehow she appeared taller as her anger blossomed in front of them, “Voldemort ordered me to be locked down there. Lucius locked the door. Draco made sure we had enough food, blankets and stopped some of the Death Eaters from dragging me out to rape me. How dare you judge what you don’t know!”

Silence settled over the small group of teenagers. Ron flushed red and muttered ‘sorry’ to the blonde woman who was glaring at him.

“Thank-you Luna,” Hermione said suddenly.

Harry regarded her hopefully, “Are you back to normal?”

Hermione shrugged, “As normal as I get. The haze over my brain seems to have lifted anyway.”

“Want us to beat Malfoy up for you?” Ron asked hopefully.

Hermione glared at him, “I was thanking Luna for yelling at you, you twit. I remember every second of what happened and know how worried Draco was. If anyone is going to get beaten up it is you!”

Ron began to yell something about Hermione always taking Draco’s side when Luna stepped up to face him. She was so close that he had to lean away to avoid touching her.

“The war hurt us all, Ronald,” Luna said in that calm tone which was so mesmerising, “Using Draco as the target for all of your pain is only going to drive your friends away. Jealousy doesn’t suit you either.”

She leaned forward to touch her nose to his while he gaped at her. He was still staring at her in shock when she smiled at him and then walked away.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Narcissa jumped to her feet when Arthur Weasley stepped out of the fireplace. She was immediately terrified that something had happened to her son.

Before the wizard could say a word, Draco appeared in the fireplace wearing a miserable frown.

“Hello?” Narcissa offered.

“Hello Narcissa, we’re just dropping by for a quick visit,” Arthur offered.

She could recognise the signs of distress in the young man she had given birth to.

Andromeda had heard their arrival and entered from the kitchen to greet the two wizards.

“Talk to me, Draco,” Narcissa ordered.

“I accidently put Hermione into some sort of trance,” Draco confessed, “They’re hoping my absence will cure it.”

Narcissa watched him slump down onto the lounge like his world was ending. She had thought his penchant for teenage dramatics had finally faded.

“If it was an accident why do you look so miserable?” Andromeda asked.

Draco ignored her. Narcissa recognised the signs of a depressive episode easily enough. He had always been prone to wallowing since Lucius had been sent to Azkaban and he had refused to see a Mind Healer countless times. She feared that living with Voldemort had damaged his self-worth far worse than even she had observed.

“Would you like some tea Arthur?” Narcissa offered politely.

Arthur had spent enough time dealing with moody adolescents to agree to the first opportunity presented to escape. He spotted the silent communication between the two sisters and Andromeda approached her nephew.

Linna was happily trotting around the kitchen when they entered. Narcissa sat down gracefully and offered him some biscuits too.

Once they each had a cup in front of them the concern returned to her features.

“I must thank you for allowing Draco to remain in your home,” Narcissa said quietly, “Frankly, Lucius was an awful father figure. I hope that my son realizes that suppressing all emotion and acting like an arrogant bastard is not as commonplace as he was raised to believe.”

“He is a clever young man,” Arthur offered, “He has embraced many changes already in his pursuit of Hermione. I am sure he will adapt to whatever awaits him.”

Narcissa sighed, “I am sure he will, yet the mental scarring will always remain. He so desperately wanted to please his father, and Lucius could never articulate how proud he really was. I know how damaging that can be to a child.”

“I have been informed that all students will be required to speak with one of the Mind Healers to be posted to Hogwarts,” Arthur assured her gently, “Even stubborn students like Draco will get the help they need.”

“He’s stubborn enough to remain silent through every session,” Narcissa mused.

“He has definitely met his match in Hermione,” Arthur assured her, “She’d drag him there and force-feed him Veritaserum if she had to.”

Meanwhile in the living room Draco was silently fuming that his aunt would not leave him to his misery. She had perched on the opposite end of the lounge and was patiently trying to wait him out. He was not in the mood to be reasoned with.

“Don’t you want to join the adults for a cup of tea?” Draco asked sarcastically, “The horrid, moody teenagers in here are lousy company.”

Andromeda smiled at him politely, “I’m rather comfortable, actually.”

Draco had always known that his sense of humour and wit came from his mothers’ side of the family; his father had often fallen prey to a sharp remark Narcissa had let fly when she was annoyed.

The calculating smile aimed in his direction hinted at a deeper understanding of human nature than even his mother could grasp. Andromeda had all the knowledge of Pureblood customs and manipulations and had already demonstrated her willingness to step outside the accepted rules of etiquette.

“I’m not.”

“Of course, you’re not,” Andromeda commented, “You’re traumatised by your upbringing, struggling to control the instincts of a Veela and as stubborn as both of your parents. I would be surprised if you were ever comfortable of late.”

“I’m not traumatised,” Draco argued weakly.

“You bloody well are,” Andromeda retorted sharply, “All that Pureblood crap Lucius pounded into your brain has coloured every word you say and every friendship you have ever made. Frankly, I am impressed that you were able to wade through it to realize how full of shit he is.”

Draco had never heard his mother swear unless she was incredibly angry. Hearing his aunt casually throw out such language while exhibiting all the mannerisms of a refined lady was oddly jarring.

“Thanks, I think.”

“I didn’t know Lucius well, even before the First Wizarding War, but I know enough from Cissy that he is incredibly proud of you. Considering his stuffy upbringing I am assuming that he expressed his emotions as well as a garden statue?”

Draco nodded silently. Nothing had ever pleased Lucius Malfoy.

“He loves you, and no matter what screwed up way he tries to show it I doubt the message would ever get through. You should be proud of yourself Draco; who else could come from such indoctrinated hatred and end up a decent person? In that regard, you have succeeded where he failed miserably.”

“How can you tell if you’re a decent person?” Draco asked softly.

Andromeda reached out to squeeze his shoulder. He looked at her hand curiously; his parents rarely touched him out of affection.

“A ‘bad’ person never bothers to question their own motives,” Andromeda replied, “By asking you are already well on the way. Surround yourself with good people and they will guide you along the path.”


	35. Insights

“I miss him,” Hermione confessed to Ginny and Luna.

Ginny had called her brother a moron and charged Harry with keeping him in line. She had ushered Hermione and Luna into the bedroom she shared with the former to avoid any more stupid comments from the peanut gallery.

“He is nice to look at,” Luna commented.

Hermione still wasn’t sure how to talk to Luna; sometimes the younger girl would just blurt out some random ridiculous notion which left her speechless. At other times she would say something utterly profound and leave everyone within hearing range in awe of her insights.

“He can make me laugh,” Hermione said quietly, “In a witty way, you know?”

“I love Harry and Ron,” Ginny added, “But wit was never their forte.”

“They are more genuine,” Hermione agreed, “What you see is what you get. They never had to hide their feelings to protect themselves.”

“You do that,” Luna mused, “It’s odd how much you two have in common.”

“It’s so hard trying to get to know him,” Hermione confessed, “Whenever the conversation veers toward anything important he brushes it off with a sneer or an insulting comment.”

“Defence mechanism,” Ginny mused, “He’ll never change, really. As long as he opens up to you in private I don’t think it would be a problem.”

“I’m so used to issues being spewed out to be dealt with,” Hermione said with a small smile, “I never appreciated how blunt our boys can be.”

“The boys in Ravenclaw could be subtle when they wanted to be,” Luna added, “It turned out that hiding my shoes was an attempt to flirt.”

“Maybe it’s just Gryffindor boys who have the subtlety of a rampaging hippogriff?” Ginny wondered.

“You’ll end up being the only person who can see through his act,” Luna sighed, “I bet it will take years to figure out all the facial clues to indicate when he lies.”

“I doubt I will need years,” Hermione decided, “I can feel an echo of his emotions, and he can feel mine.”

“How is he feeling now?” Ginny asked.

Hermione stared at the wall behind Ginny’s head to concentrate, “Anxious, confused and a bit guilty.”

“He might think you’re angry at him,” Luna hypothesised.

“I’m not; he should be able to feel that at least.”

“You were furious at Ron,” Ginny recalled, “How is Malfoy supposed to know who the anger is aimed at?”

“Great,” Hermione realized, “He’s probably beating himself up for no reason.”

“How silly,” Luna agreed, “Ron would gladly save him the effort. He seems oddly fond of violence around Draco.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Why don’t you want to see a Mind Healer?” Andromeda asked Draco casually.

He shrugged, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“A problem shared is a problem halved,” she continued, “It took Ted months to convince me to speak to someone after I was cast out by the family. I had nightmares and bouts of depression for years but sorting through the pain was the only way to control it.”

“If I talk about it, I have to accept that it was real,” Draco said tightly.

“It is real,” Andromeda replied smoothly, “Hiding from those memories will only give them more power.”

Draco wanted to say something rude to drive her away. Unfortunately for him, she reminded him too strongly of his mother.

“I’ll think about it,” he said grudgingly.

“You may look like your father, but your personality is mostly from the Black side,” Andromeda decided, “We can be just as stubborn and judgemental but at least we are never boring.”

Draco could not label his father as ‘boring’. As a child Lucius had been terrifying, and as a teenager he had been ruthless and respected. Now, he was a shadow of his former self.

“Your father was nicknamed ‘Sponge-man’ when we all got drunk together,” Andromeda revealed, “He always seemed to absorb the opinions and demeanour of the people around him. Too bad he was surrounded by arseholes.”

Like Lucius, Draco had long ago learned how to become what others expected. He had always considered it a useful skill, and it had certainly saved his life in the past. Spending time with Hermione had softened his reactions to unfamiliar situations; even Potter was mostly tolerable most of the day. Weasley was annoying, but no longer worth inflicting violence on.

Draco had always wanted to be like his father; until Voldemort had returned. Seeing the once proud Malfoy patriarch bow to anyone was traumatic enough; seeing him tortured and brown-nosing had left him nauseous. He had been fifteen when he realized he didn’t want to be anything like Lucius.

Of course, he had ended up following the Death Eater path anyway. Fear had driven him to act as bad as any other simpering lackey trying to avoid torture and an early grave.

“He never had a choice either,” Draco said sadly, “His father threw him to the wolves just as he did to me.”

“And the cycle of fear continued into the next generation,” Andromeda agreed, “I am glad I will be around to see you step out of their shadows.”

The ache in his chest had been much worse when Hermione had left the Burrow. It was uncomfortable, enough that his hand kept moving up to press against the same spot. He wondered if he had simply braced himself for it better when he had been the one to depart.

Andromeda had withdrawn her hand from his shoulder but the way she had reached out to him so casually lingered in his mind. Other than his mother, Hermione was the first person he trusted to touch him. He would always associate his father’s touch with impending pain.

“I can see your mother in your face when you are thinking deeply,” Andromeda revealed, “The shape of your mouth and that crease between your eyebrows give it away.”

Draco felt questions surface in his mind and wondered if it would be rude to simply ask them. Hermione preferred the direct approach, but he wasn’t sure if it was a female trait or a Gryffindor one.

“When you began dating your husband,” Draco began carefully, “Was he surprised by things you would say and do?” He didn’t observe any flinch at the mention of her late husband, so he completed the question rather than abandoning it.

Andromeda nodded, “All the time. He couldn’t understand why I would cringe when he first tried to hold my hand. He was so hurt that I had to explain that my parents would only reach out to me if I was to be punished. He thought that was incredibly sad.”

“It’s frustrating too,” Draco decided, his voice strengthening, “Molly and Arthur hug their kids all the time. Why couldn’t we have had that?”

“Was it difficult realizing how much you envy the Weasley family?”

Draco stared at her for a few long seconds. He hated that she could read him so easily.

“Of course, it was. I’ve been punched in the face before and the experience was oddly similar.”

“That is definitely your mothers’ sense of humour,” Andromeda said with a smile, “Lucius would have sneered and said something like ‘A Malfoy would never be envious of a Weasley’.” Her impersonation of his father was uncanny.

“He’s a prat,” Draco sighed, “But I still want him to be proud of me. I’m screwed up.”

“You’re normal in that regard Draco,” Andromeda disagreed, “Everyone wants to make their parents proud in their own way. Even knowing logically that his opinion is not worth hearing most of the time, a part of you will always want his approval.”

“Did you have the same problem?”

“Definitely. Most of my sessions with the Mind Healer were about my sense of guilt for letting my parents down, even though they were disgraceful excuses for human beings.”

“I’m not even sure when Father started looking at me strangely,” Draco recalled thoughtfully, “Clearly, he and Mother suspected I would become a Veela well before I was informed. His lectures on choosing a Pureblood bride kept getting longer after I turned fourteen. Did he really think his opinions would influence a decision I had no control over?”

“He was clutching at straws,” Andromeda provided, “As much as he likes the Pureblood ideology, it simply doesn’t hold up to scrutiny.”

“No matter what else he is; he was never an idiot. I can only imagine how much effort it took to ignore the truth for so long,” Draco mused.

“Lucius was always stubborn,” Andromeda mused, “He might still have his head firmly planted up his arse. Has he said anything disparaging about Hermione since he found out she was your mate?”

“Not to my face,” Draco grumbled, “I’m sure I’ve walking in on a few conversations between my parents about it though. The sudden silence is a bit of a give-away.”

“They could have been discussing Voldemort?”

Draco doubted it. Lucius had always tried to keep Narcissa out of important conversations and had shut down her opinions even when Draco was in the room instead of just eavesdropping.

The roar of the fireplace was a welcome distraction. Hermione stepped out, followed a few seconds later by Looney and Weaslette.

Draco took one look at the distress on the face of his mate and wanted to sink into the lounge. He hadn’t realized that his anxiety and longing had covered the same feelings he was picking up from her.

“See?” Weaslette said to Hermione, “He’s fine. Quit stressing; you’re giving yourself wrinkles.”

Hermione had her fingers entwined in the material at the bottom of her shirt and was fidgeting nervously. Her bottom lip was being trapped by her teeth again, which was very sexy.

“You didn’t come back,” Hermione said quietly.

The presence of the other three people in the room was easily ignored; they could have used a Portkey to go to Antarctica and Draco would not have noticed.

“I’m sorry,” Draco apologized, “I thought you were angry at me. I deserve it.”

Hermione huffed at him, “You felt the wave of fury as you arrived here?”

Draco nodded. Weaslette was rolling her eyes at the two of them.

“I was angry at Ron,” Hermione explained, “More rubbish tumbled out of his mouth. Luna managed to shut him up pretty effectively though.”

“Silencing Charm?” Draco guessed.

“The Sprute Flies are moving in the opposite direction around your head,” Looney replied, “I bet your other elbow is itchy now.”

Andromeda stood up to hug the three young witches in a warm greeting. Draco only had eyes for Hermione.

“Ron was being unfair,” Weaslette was saying to Andromeda, “Luna pointed out how much he tried to help her when she was held prisoner.”

“Malfoy Manor didn’t feel like a prison,” Looney mused, “All the stories about growing up there were helpful at the time.”

Draco regarded the strange blonde in surprise, “Whose stories?”

Luna smiled at him, “My grandmother was Ellaria Lovegood. Her maiden name was Malfoy. Apparently her brother Abraxas would pretend to be a gallant hero and save the kidnapped princess from the dungeons. She was exiled from the family when she married a Muggle-born.”

If Draco hadn’t been sitting down, he would have fallen on his backside. His grandfather Abraxas Malfoy had had a sister; Looney Lovegood was his second cousin?

“You didn’t know?” Weaslette guessed, “I wonder if anyone else at Hogwarts can claim to be your family?”

“After being exiled, the family member is never spoken of again,” Andromeda explained, “I am not surprised that you had never been told of the connection.”

“Your father looks like mine,” Luna added, “Except he always looks cranky. Does he eat enough fibre?”

Weaslette began giggling and even Hermione smiled. Andromeda soon convinced the younger two women to accompany her to the kitchen.

“I missed you,” Draco said simply when he and Hermione were alone.

Hermione didn’t bother replying. The ache in her chest wasn’t painful, just distressing. She didn’t like feeling that something vital had been ripped away.


	36. Parents

Draco recognised the determination in her features seconds before she landed in his lap. Her arms snaked around his torso and she buried her face into his neck.

“Don’t leave like that again,” Hermione said in a muffled voice, “Or if you have to, come back right after.”

“I didn’t mean to put you in a trance,” Draco apologized, “I was scared when I couldn’t make it stop.”

The apology was hard for him to say; years of training never to offer such a display of weakness finally submitted to the Veela instincts to make amends with his mate.

“What were you thinking when it happened?”

“I was asking you the same question before something in my head felt weird. I wanted to figure out why you were scared of flying and help you overcome it.”

Hermione leaned back to stare up at him, “You know, I felt like you were trying to take away that reluctance. There was a moment when I could have shrugged it off, but I decided to see if you could help.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Don’t you see?” Hermione was clearly excited, “I gave you an odd sort of permission to interfere with my fear of flying and you did. I got on the broom without a worry!”

“Then turned into a zombie,” Draco reminded her.

“I bet with practise you’d be able to take away the fear of flying and leave the rest of my mind unaffected,” Hermione decided.

Draco refrained from pointing out how ridiculously naïve she could be. He was distracted by the way she was looking at his mouth. He didn’t have to be a genius to know she was considering kissing him. He leaned forward in anticipation.

Hermione ran her fingertip along his cheekbone and pressed her lips against his. She ran the tip of her tongue along his lower lip and heard him groan into her mouth.

Draco had kissed more girls that he could recall. He had experienced expert kisses, timid kisses, sloppy kisses and drunk kisses. The gentle yet confident way Hermione peppered his mouth with small kisses was oddly enjoyable. The tip of her tongue touched his before retreating again.

At first Hermione thought she was imagining the buzz she could feel coming from him. As it grew stronger she leaned back to smile at him in wonder.

“You’re purring,” she whispered.

The flash of light from the doorway to the kitchen ruined the sweet moment. Ginny stood there pointing a camera at them.

“You have shit timing, Weaslette,” Draco hissed.

“I have perfect timing,” Ginny argued, “And a gorgeous picture of you two. Quit complaining or I won’t give you a copy.”

“You have my permission to buy her some sort of embarrassing leather outfit and present it to her in front of the whole family,” Hermione whispered.

Ginny frowned at the evil smirk which appeared on Malfoy’s face rather abruptly.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After returning to the Burrow, Draco observed the rising tension with interest and a healthy dose of caution. Weasley grunted a half-arsed apology for flying off the handle and Draco accepted politely. Keeping his mate happy was easily more important than annoying the redhead.

He was impatient to speak to Hermione alone; to finally ask why she has reacted emotionally to the idle suggestion of sending Pig on a long journey to tire him out. She could hide her feelings from the dim-witted duo but not from him.

Each night Hermione and Ginny would disappear in the late afternoon. Sometimes they would be hidden in their room and protected by various spells to deter eavesdropper. At other times they would disappear outside under the guise of going for a walk.

Draco waited until they returned just before dusk. Weaslette grinned at him but that wasn’t a surprise; she had been wearing a shit-eating grin ever since she had spent the afternoon in Grimmauld Place.

“She needs a good snog,” Weaslette laughed as she headed into the house, “Get to work, Ferret!”

Draco chose to ignore the comment which left Hermione blushing.

“If she doesn’t watch out I’m going to find a way to make her burst into song whenever she gets frisky,” Hermione muttered.

“Two birds, one stone,” Draco agreed, “Potter has been wearing the stupidest grin and staring at the wall like it’s speaking to him. I hope someone throws a bucket of cold water over both of them.”

Hermione giggled at the image he described while he watched her with a frown. He was worried about something.

Draco led her over to one of the dilapidated chairs which the Weasley family kept scattered around the yard. Water-repelling charms kept them dry, but the original colours had long since faded.

“You get a weird crease between your eyebrows when you’re stressed,” Hermione pointed out as she ran her finger along the bridge of his nose.

“It only appeared after you found out about my Veela heritage,” Draco sighed, “You’re giving me wrinkles.”

Hermione made a dismissive noise, “As if. Are you saying I’m scarier than Voldemort?”

Draco pulled her into a hug, “He could have tortured and killed me. You could rip my heart out and make me wish for death.”

He wasn’t as agonised as he seemed, and she knew it.

“Are you always this dramatic?”

He smirked and reminded her vividly of their time at Hogwarts. The coldness she had always seen in his eyes had been replaced by a mischievous glint.

“I’ve been spending too much time around Potter and Weasley,” Draco decided.

“Get used to it,” Hermione replied with a smile, “If you plan on courting me, they’re going to be keeping a close eye on you.”

“Can I kidnap you and flee to some tropical island where they’ll never find us?” Draco asked hopefully.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

“Or Australia?”

The stab of pain which lanced through her torso made them both wince.

“Why does that pain you?”

“Manipulative bastard!” Hermione hissed. She shoved him away and lurched to her feet.

“Slytherin,” Draco replied with a shrug.

“Why couldn’t you just ask outright?” Hermione hissed.

“You hid the pain remarkably well earlier today,” Draco recalled, “If you won’t open up to friends you have trusted implicitly for years I doubted you would be ready to share with me.”

“You have no right to push this,” Hermione scolded, “I will speak about it when I’m good and ready.”

“I can’t allow that,” Draco replied simply.

The fury which welled within her was preferable to the pain.

“You ‘can’t allow that’?” Hermione repeated in a dangerous tone, “What am I, your pet dog?”

“You’re my mate,” he clarified, “And you’re in pain. I can’t let you suffer.”

“So, you’re going to help by pissing me off?” Hermione demanded.

On reflection, his plan was stupid.

“At least when you’re yelling at me I know how to react!” Draco cried.

He watched her shoulders slump and her lip trembled. He was horrified to realize she was about to cry.

“Yell at me,” Draco pleaded.

Hermione felt the tears spill over onto her cheeks, “After Dumbledore died, I knew I had to protect my parents. I obliviated them. They are living in Australia somewhere, completely unaware that they even have a daughter.”

The full impact of her words was compounded by the way her voice shook. Somehow she didn’t choke up part-way through the explanation.

“Can their memories be restored?” Draco asked worriedly.

Hermione climbed back into his lap and buried her face in his shoulder, “I spoke to an Auror about it. There is an eighty percent chance the counter-charm would cause them brain damage. I couldn’t take that risk.”

Draco tried to imagine his own parents unable to recall who he was. He wasn’t bothered by the idea of Lucius failing to recognise him; his mother was a different matter.

“I don’t even know if I saved them,” Hermione added with a sniff, “There was never any evidence of Death Eaters at my house. Maybe I should have just left them alone.”

Sometimes Draco wished he could be obliviated so all the horrid memories could just disappear. For once he was grateful he had seen so much ugliness.

“Lucius was ordered to hunt down your parents,” Draco revealed softly, “The Dark Bastard made it very clear that I was to kill them.”

Hermione stared up at him with wide eyes. Her hands were clutching his biceps too tightly for comfort.

“He thought it was amusing I guess,” Draco continued, “So when you were presented to me after the war he could casually mention that I had killed your parents to ruin any potential relationship.”

“Stockholm Syndrome does not constitute a relationship,” Hermione muttered.

“The house was empty and clearly had not been occupied for months,” he revealed, “We were tortured for a while when we returned with the bad news but there was no way to track your parents. You saved their lives, Hermione.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione observed Ginny and Harry sharing shy glances during dinner. She was sure that Ginny had her hand on his thigh under the table.

Ron was concentrating very hard on his food. If he looked over at his best friend and sister, he would be in danger of saying something he would regret.

Hermione was worried about Ron. After the Battle of Hogwarts, he had become increasingly moody. Consecutive days of forced cheer would suddenly give way to a bout of depression and drinking. She recognised some of the signs of his struggle as they ate.

The Sunday lunch gathering of the family had been a trigger in the past. Looking around at his brothers reminded Ron that Fred was gone and George would never be complete again.

Hermione had been as supportive as she could as his girlfriend yet was always sure she would never be enough to help him heal. Since they were no longer dating she wondered if he would still want her company when the depression took hold.

When Molly sat down to eat with the rest of the family her gaze fell on her daughter for the first time since lunch. Hermione watched in fascination as the older woman narrowed her eyes at Ginny before her attention flicked to Harry.

She _knew_. Hermione could not figure out how, but it was clear that Molly Weasley possessed a type of magic which couldn’t be described in a textbook.

Draco had also noticed the sudden tension in Mrs Weasley. He watched with detached interest as Weaslette met her mothers’ stare with her chin up and her eyes confident.

“Did you have an enjoyable afternoon?” Molly asked her daughter pointedly.

Weasley choked on his potatoes. Draco hid his amusement as the freckled face was marred by a deep blush. If the redhead wasn’t so annoying, he would consider giving him lessons in subtlety. Instead he sat back to enjoy the show.

“It was nice to see Diagon Alley returning to normal,” Hermione commented. Draco silently admired her poise.

“It was getting as creepy as Knockturn Alley,” Draco mused, “I was a bloody Death Eater and I still didn’t want to go there.”

Draco decided that Potter and Weaslette owed him a favour for playing along long enough for them to begin breathing again. Neither one had tried to inhale their food like Weasley but there would not be any congratulations on their ability to remain calm under pressure.

“Ollivander’s has reopened,” Hermione offered.

Molly was regarding Harry with a long, unblinking stare. The wizard sank down into his chair as though seriously contemplating hiding under the table.

Draco had watched Potter face off against Voldemort and yet he had never seen such trepidation and fear in his face before.

“Are you alright Mum?” Weaslette asked bravely. Clearly she was the only one courageous enough to draw the ire of Mrs Weasley without flinching.

“Fine Dear,” Molly replied casually, “Though your Father and I would like to have a chat with you and Harry after dinner.”

Arthur glanced around in confusion, “We would?”


	37. Outburst

Draco wanted to linger near the door to hear Potter and Weaslette get a lecture from the parental units. Hermione rolled her eyes at him and dragged him over to sit with Weasley.

“Should we set up Monopoly?” Hermione asked.

Weasley shrugged, “Harry is on a winning streak. Have you noticed that smug look he gets when he knows he is going to win?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, “I recognised it from school. It makes him look constipated.”

“We’ve been doing so well!” Hermione complained, “No fights, not even an argument!”

“Fights?” Draco repeated, “Over what?”

“Monopoly,” Weasley replied, “Hermione and Ginny cheat.”

“We do not!”

“You only do trades with each other!” Weasley complained, “You always gang up on Harry and I.”

“Only because you two gang up first!” Hermione argued hotly, “And I saw him slip you that 500 dollar note last night!”

“Why didn’t you hex him?” Draco asked with a smile.

“Mum,” Weasley muttered.

“She made us promise to be civil for a few days, so you could settle in. Usually the game ends in a yelling match,” Hermione added.

Draco laughed, “Her heart was in the right place, but I thoroughly enjoy seeing you lot yell at each other. Feel free to continue.”

“That’s what I told Mum!” Weasley agreed, “She gave me a lecture about being a proper host. As if you’d care! We don’t serve tea in a mansion, so you assume we’re all baboons anyway.”

Weasley said it so casually that the smile fell from Draco’s face. He hadn’t said a word about the Weasley home and yet the redhead still assumed he was silently turning his nose up.

“Actually Weasley, this is the best house I’ve ever been in,” Draco replied honestly, “Do you know how boring it is to live in a house where the closest you get to company are House Elves? Theo spent half his childhood at my place, and I would throw a tantrum when he had to leave because I was so damn lonely.”

Hermione squeezed his hand while Weasley gaped at him.

“I’d give all the gold in the Malfoy vault for a family like yours; even a brother as annoying as Weasley. From the moment I learned the Weasley family had seven children I was bloody jealous. Seeing your Mother show affection so casually in Diagon Alley to Potter of all people made my chest ache. Do you know what I would wish for every Christmas? A hug. It was ‘unseemly’ to show affection so readily so the first hug I can remember came from Pansy Parkinson.”

“How depressing,” Hermione mused, “What’s wrong with showing affection?”

Draco shrugged, “Affection for another is seen as a weakness when your Father is expecting the Dark Bastard to return at any moment. Mother has only ever initiated a hug with me since the Battle for Hogwarts; it took imminent death to break through Pureblood bullshit.”

A sob from behind him stopped the flow of self-pity that Draco knew he would regret later. Showing such vulnerability was asking for someone to take advantage of it.

Hermione watched Molly stride forward and pull Draco into a fierce hug. Though he was a full head taller than the Weasley matriarch he sank into her embrace as a child would.

Hermione pretended not to notice the sheen over his eyes that he was trying to blink away.

While Molly tugged Draco into the kitchen for a cup of tea Harry and Ginny escaped to where Ron was still standing awkwardly.

“Damn, we owe Malfoy for that,” Ginny acknowledged.

“What? For having a break down over his shitty life?” Ron asked.

“With perfect timing,” Harry agreed.

Ginny nodded fervently, “Mum was talking about potions to suppress the libido. She had a mad glint in her eye; I’m not trusting anything she cooks from now on.”

“We should get Mum a puppy,” Ron mused.

Hermione regarded him sceptically, “Why?”

“She needs something to look after. She had all of us -”

“Then she practically adopted me,” Harry added.

“And you Hermione,” Ginny agreed.

“Now, I think she wants to adopt Malfoy, too,” Ron sighed.

Hermione laughed, which startled the three of them, “Ron, you’d be able to claim him as a brother!”

Ron spluttered in horror while Ginny pulled out the Monopoly box.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco could not help but feel guilty after pouring his heart out to Molly Weasley. He was sure he was betraying his own mother by confiding in another.

“I’m going to write to Minerva about the Mind Healers,” Molly decided as the conversation wound down, “You need to start talking to one as soon as possible. It’s amazing that you are still mentally intact after the War.”

Draco shrugged. He had been bloody useless during the conflict.

“He was in your head,” Molly stressed, “No-one could shrug that off.”

After securing a mumbled agreement to cooperate with any sessions which were organised for him Molly ushered him into the living room.

“You hexed the dice!” Weasley accused, “I know you can do wandless magic Hermione!”

“I did not hex anything Ronald!” Hermione cried, “It was luck! Why would I cheat over a stupid game?”

“To win!”

Molly sighed and cast a Silencing Charm over the two of them. Hermione continued to argue for a full two seconds before falling silent and frowning at the older witch.

“Your turn, Harry,” Ginny said pleasantly.

Draco sat on the lounge rather than near Hermione as he wanted. Arthur had switched on the television and was engrossed in the Muggle news.

“Are you two going to act like adults now?” Molly asked Weasley and Hermione.

Hermione nodded. Weasley just shrugged. The Silencing spell was lifted anyway.

“And you can stop changing those one-dollar notes into five hundreds, Harry,” Weaslette said casually.

Weasley growled a threat at Potter, which everyone ignored. Draco waited for snide comments about his breakdown to be thrown his way, yet nothing happened.

Hermione could feel the confusion he was experiencing. She smiled at him in an attempt to be reassuring.

“Give me a seven!” Ginny commanded the dice she held, “Come on seven!”

“I’m never taking you to a casino,” Harry decided.

“What’s a casino?” she wondered. She let the dice go and grinned at the results.

“I swear you’re cheating,” Ron muttered.

“Seven has the highest chance of occurring,” Hermione pointed out, “There’s a much higher chance that it won’t occur, but it’s not impossible.”

Ginny grinned evilly. Hermione cringed even before the redhead spoke.

“What can I say? I’m damn good at getting lucky!”

Harry blushed bright red while Ron covered his face with one hand. Hermione just shook her head.

“Enough of that Ginevra,” Molly interrupted sharply, “You are still underage, and I would be fully within my rights to confine you to your room until your next birthday.”

Draco heard Weaslette mutter something about ‘hypocritical bloody parents’ before she was silenced by a glance from her mother.

As the game progressed Draco watched Weaslette grow increasingly frustrated. Potter and Weasley refused to trade certain little coloured properties she wanted in favour of trading with each other.

“You two do this every time!” Weaslette burst out eventually, “It’s not fair to always gang up against us!”

Weasley scoffed at his sister, “Like you don’t do that same thing with Hermione!”

“Not all the time,” Hermione replied calmly.

“It’s not against the rules,” Potter pointed out. His fiancée glared at him.

“Ginny, arguing will not help,” Hermione said firmly. Draco could feel the bolt of mischief which shot through his mate as she spoke.

Weaslette watched her friend expectantly.

“I’ll sell you everything I own for two dollars,” Hermione offered.

Potter began to protest but Weaslette cut him off, “Deal!”

Draco watched Hermione hand over all her properties and pile of paper money. The two dollars she held made him curious.

“I would never leave you two out in the cold,” Hermione said to Potter and Weasley condescendingly. She dropped a dollar in front of each of them.

“That’s cheating!” Weasley complained.

“No, it’s not,” Weaslette laughed.

Draco watched his mate walk away from the game with a smile while Weaslette cackled happily. The haughty expression of pride she wore at a situation well-manipulated was distinctly Slytherin.

Hermione held out her hand to him, “Walk with me. Watching the rest of the game could be traumatic.”

Draco took her hand immediately, “It’s been so calm for the last two nights. I’d be interested in observing a fight; Weaslette has that cool Bogey hex.”

“They were on their best behaviour,” Molly replied sagely from her seated position, “Now that you’ve settled in, they are returning to their regular behaviour. If wands come out, they have to deal with me.”

“Noted,” he mused. He recalled all the snide barbs and outright threats of the past few days. He wondered if he would be dodging punches in the near future.

Hermione led him outside into the darkness. By the light of her wand she spread out a blanket on the grass, sat down and patted the space beside her.

“I find looking at the stars very relaxing,” she confided, “Sometimes I lay out here for hours.”

Draco lowered himself to sit down as she moved to rest on her back. The instinct to throw his leg over hers and nuzzle her neck clashed with the gentleman he was raised to imitate.

Hermione watched him slowly lay back until his body was parallel to hers.

“I used to star-gaze with Mother,” Draco recalled, “When I was very young. We would discuss potential baby names. After she miscarried when I was eight we didn’t talk about names anymore.”

Draco felt her small hand touch his skin. Her small fingers entwined with his naturally.

“You are an enigma,” Hermione decided.

“How so?”

“You can be so distant sometimes I feel like you are not really in the same room,” she replied, “And yet at other times you spill out stories like that without prompting

and I feel so close to you.”

Draco rolled onto his side so he could watch her, “Have you noticed the pattern?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Of course. You only open up when we’re alone.”

“I trust you,” Draco explained, “I can’t honestly say that about anyone else except my mother.”

“I trust some people with my life but not my emotions,” Hermione mused, “And others in the reverse. Is it part of the Veela package that you have to trust me?”

“I watched you for years,” Draco replied, “Even if I had confided something to you at the height of your hatred for me, I doubt you would have betrayed me.”

“You give me too much credit,” Hermione snorted, “If I’d found out that you sucked your thumb or something in Fourth Year it would have been all over the school within a day.”

“Yet if you had found out that I was locked in the dungeons as punishment for being beaten in all my classes by a muggle-born, you would not have said a word.”

Hermione frowned up at the sky, “That’s child abuse. The Wizarding World is seriously medieval in some respects.”

“I’m sure some Muggles are just as bad,” Draco said.

“Muggles are just like us; they range across the whole scale of evil. At least in Muggle society purposefully harming a child that way is against the law; in the Wizarding world it isn’t even acknowledged.”

Draco recalled the faint memories of his grandfather and the cold relationship between him and Lucius. The casual cruelty had been explicitly taught, as Lucius had attempted to teach him.

“If Muggle society keeps evolving, why doesn’t ours?” Hermione continued, “I agree that the worlds should be kept separate to prevent hostilities, but the assumption that Muggles are stupid, vicious animals is ridiculous.”

Draco knew the issue would be a major thorn between them; he had been raised to fear Muggles and view them exactly as she had described.

“I only ever met Muggles when they were being tortured,” Draco said softly, “Apart from the occasional one at Diagon Alley shopping with their children.”

“And that’s part of the problem!” Hermione insisted, “You never interacted with Muggles on a casual basis, so they are totally unknown. It’s indoctrinating you to prolong the discrimination and believe all the rubbish Pureblood elitists spew.”

“How do you change the view held by so many powerful people in a society?” Draco wondered.

Hermione made a noise of disgust, “That could take decades. If all wizards and witches had to live a year of their adult lives as Muggles, it would change everything.”

“Probably. Good luck convincing anyone to make that law.”


	38. Bad Day

After Molly broke up the yelling match the Monopoly game had descended into, she made hot chocolate. While they were sitting around the table Draco observed the way Potter couldn’t look Mrs Weasley in the face.

Gryffindors were weird.

The wind howled as they trooped upstairs to their respective bedrooms. It seemed like an omen.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The Charms he had cast on the walls worked well. Draco woke up screaming and covered in sweat from thrashing in bed, yet he was very much alone. Sounds could enter the room, but not escape it.

The image of Charity Burbage hanging above the table begging for help while he sat there silent and cowardly would always haunt him. He had kept his eyes on the table when the disgusting snake had devoured her body and cursed his peripheral vision. He hadn’t been able to keep anything down for two days after that.

It was still dark though the tiniest hints of dawn were beginning to emerge. A full night’s rest was a pipe dream he doubted he would ever experience again.

Draco grabbed some clean clothes and headed toward the bathroom. Hermione had altered three shirts so he could change them daily. He still felt quite exposed having the wounds on display, but he was unwilling to risk her yelling at him for wanting to be fully dressed.

The water hitting his back was uncomfortable rather than painful, which was an improvement. He didn’t remain under the water long; he hated not being able to hear just in case someone was sneaking up on him. The war had left him far more paranoid and traumatised than he would ever admit.

His hair was still damp when he sat down at the table with a bowl of cereal and a cup of tea. He had been rather inept at making his own breakfast until Hermione had showed him the delights of a simple bowl of cereal. The reliance on House Elves was a weakness he had not recognised before. Wixon had offered to make him a three-course breakfast but after his rough night, he needed a light meal.

Potter appeared not long after dawn. He grunted something which could have been a greeting or a gas release. Draco offered him a quiet ‘hello’ to be polite.

Potter always looked untidy due to his hair; this time he appeared haunted. His eyes were half-closed and possibly bloodshot. He slumped over his own bowl of cereal and ate so slowly that the blonde wondered if he was waiting for the pieces to drown in the milk.

Draco was sure conversation would not be welcome, so he sipped his tea in silence. He had been envious of the fame of the raven-haired wizard for so long he had not really considered the price associated with it. He had never seen Potter so miserable, and that was after spending years trying to make him unhappy.

“Avoid Ron today,” Potter said suddenly.

For a moment Draco wondered if he was talking to himself until he met the stare of the pair of green eyes under that messy mop of hair.

“Alright. Isn’t that good advice to follow any day?”

Potter didn’t even try to defend his friend, “It’s going to be a shit day; stay away from Ron.”

Draco nodded, “Okay.”

Potter returned to his breakfast while Draco wondered if Weasley children exploded on Monday’s. He was about to ask Potter for an explanation when the wizard rolled his eyes and took pity on him.

“Bad night,” Potter explained, “After certain nightmares, Ron is cranky all day.”

Draco wasn’t worried about an annoyed, sleep deprived Weasley. Weaslette could give him pause with her temper; he knew better than to risk the wrath of a female with enough intelligence to make his life miserable. In comparison, Weasley was as threatening as a fly.

Potter finished his breakfast and delivered his bowl to the sink as an owl landed at the window. Draco approached the bird warily, not wanting another bite to add to his collection. He opened the window and held out his arm.

Within a minute he was opening a letter while Potter fed the white owl. Draco noted the way the raven-haired wizard was gazing at the creature mournfully.

_Dear Draco,_

_I can’t wait to see you on Friday! I’ll be arriving by Floo at 11am, and Father is insisting on coming too. I’ve threatened to run away and join the circus if he embarrasses me. Astoria wanted to come to flirt with you; I had to promise to set her up with Blaise to make her stay at home. I always knew she had no taste._

_That owl which brought your letter is a total weirdo; I found him snuggled up to my Pygmy Puff last night with the letter still attached. If Puff hadn’t been squeaking in terror I would not have noticed I had mail. I used Snowy for the reply obviously; I think this owl is trying to make a nest in my underwear drawer and convince Puff to bear his eggs. Good luck to him I say; Puff is a boy._

_You can tell Ronald my identity, but no-one else. Father is still paranoid that some Death Eater is going to swoop in and abduct me. He was sentenced to a year probation by the Ministry; I’m so glad they didn’t haul him off to Azkaban just for having the stupid mark._

_Did you hear about Pansy’s dad? He got a year in Azkaban. Mrs Parkinson fainted when the officials came to take him away. She was always a drama queen, that one. Pansy told her to knock it off with her trademark tact. She’s pretty pissed at her parents these days; they’re trying to set her up with any pureblood with a penis; they tried to coerce her into babysitting the Selwyn hair and dropped hints about the future potential. What kind of sicko tries to set their daughter up with a little kid?_

_Anyway, Wednesday is going to suck but I should be my regular charming self by Friday. I plan to have steak for breakfast before I come over; sometimes I wonder if having a furry butt could be worse than these stupid cravings. (And I wish I was only talking about food.)_

_Be nice and don’t embarrass Ronald or I’ll tell the whole family about that mole on your backside._

_See you then_

_Daphne_

Potter was staring out the window long after the owl had turned into a tiny speck in the distance. Draco tucked the letter away and considered slipping from the room instead of initiating a conversation. He suspected they were about to have a ‘bonding’ moment and he was not keen on the idea.

“Interesting letter?” Potter asked without turning around.

“Alright, as far as letters go. If Pig isn’t back by tonight he’s hooking up with a Pygmy Puff.”

“What?”

“Nothing important. The mystery guest will arrive at eleven on Friday and is probably bringing her father.”

“That narrows down the suspects to females whose father is not in Azkaban,” Potter mused.

“Quit guessing,” Draco ordered, “She wants it to be a surprise. How long have you been around Weaslette without figuring out that it is always painful to piss off a woman?”

“She’s be pissed at you; not me,” Potter replied with a smirk.

Draco retreated upstairs before Potter could continue his half-arsed interrogation. He rounded a corner to find Weasley leaning against the doorway to the room Hermione shared with Weaslette.

The door was open.

Something dark and possessive welled up inside Draco. There was a male watching his mate while she was unconscious and therefore vulnerable.

It was easy to summon the power to make the door close, even when Weasley reached out to stop it.

“Piss off, Malfoy,” Weasley muttered mutinously.

“No. Hermione can spend long, tedious hours putting up with you during the day,” Draco replied coldly, “I won’t let you stare at her while she is asleep. When did you become a bloody stalker?”

“So, fucking noble,” Weasley spat, “Why weren’t you so protective of her when your aunt was cutting her up?”

A cold shame flooded through Draco as the memory of that day reared its ugly head. He had failed miserably in his duty to protect his mate and he would never forgive himself.

“No answer?” Weasley mocked, “Not surprised. Did you hear her screaming while she was sliced up? I still hear it.”

“I attacked my parents when I heard her,” Draco replied in an emotionless voice, “Lucius put me under the Imperius curse to keep me in the room long enough to fool Bellatrix. If she had found out about my attachment to Hermione she would have been dead within seconds.”

“It was the worst moment of my life,” Weasley choked out, “I’ve never felt so bloody useless.”

Draco sat down against the opposite doorframe. He wondered if they looked like a pair of mismatched gate decorations.

“I wanted to die,” Draco offered, “I was trapped in my body and forced to watch the torture. She looked at me while it was happening. Even now when she looks at me I can’t meet her eyes without feeling ashamed.”

Ron blinked at the blonde thoughtfully. The self-loathing was evident in the hunch of his shoulders and downcast expression.

“We have something else in common,” Ron admitted, “And that’s just irritating.”

Draco held out the letter to the redhead. Weasley regarded it warily before taking it. His eyes widened as he scanned the contents. The dopey grin which grew on his face was annoying on a whole new level.

“You have a mole on your arse?” Weasley realized, “I didn’t want to know that.”

Draco shrugged, “She can play the demure Pureblood lady when she has to, but Daphne isn’t one to mince worse if she trusts you. If it works between you two, you’ll know enough about Slytherins in our year level to write a book.”

“Sounds like a horror novel.”

“The chapters on Goyle and Crabbe would be,” Draco agreed.

Weasley looked horrified, “Did she; with one of them?”

Draco snorted, “Merlin, no. Do you remember the Carrow twins? Apparently they like their men big and stupid.”

Weasley was still watching him strangely, “Did you and she ever hook up?”

Draco had been hoping to avoid this section of the conversation; confessing his sexual history to Weasley of all people was not on his to-do list.

“Sort of, though she is still a virgin. It’s a Pureblood thing for the woman.”

“So, they have to remain ‘pure’ while you shagged your way through Hogwarts?” Weasley said crudely, “That’s not fair.”

“My reputation was ninety percent bullshit,” Draco replied pointedly, “Stop assuming I was a whore.”

“Yeah,” Weasley agreed, “Whore’s get paid. You were just a slut.”

_Dear Daphne,_

_Weasley is a complete moron. I have no idea how you could be attracted to such a blithering idiot. If you want me to buy you a great big dog to drool over you and pee outside I will order one today._

_He flat-out asked if we had ever been an item so I let slip what we hadn’t done to avoid what we have. I hope you’re not planning a hex on any of my body parts for revealing anything._

_When you get here, would you PLEASE tell everyone that I was not sleeping with dozens of girls after third year? They think I’m the Slut of Slytherin and it’s really starting to piss me off._

_Potter and Weaslette got engaged; make sure you ask about that particular day while Mrs Weasley is in the room. Potter turns bright red and loses the ability to speak. I really do prefer him that way._

_Have you heard from Theo? I’m getting worried about the taciturn git. I have written to him a couple of times but haven’t heard back._

_The idiot owl is called Pig and belongs to the moron referenced earlier. Ask it to send a letter for you and it will nearly wet itself with delight. I’m only exaggerating slightly._

_See you Friday_

_Draco_


	39. The Verdict on Narcissa

_Dear Mrs Narcissa Malfoy,_

_Your memories have been analysed and the verdict has been decided._

_On the charge of using an Unforgivable Curse: **Not Guilty**_

_On the charge of conspiring with Death Eaters and Voldemort: **Guilty**_

_On the charge of participating in Death Eater Revels: **Guilty**_

_A fine of five million galleons has been imposed on the Malfoy estate, to be paid in full to the **Ministry of Magic: War Reparations Division**._

_As it is clear all of your actions were coerced and your lie to Voldemort saved the life of Harry Potter, the penalty will be a year of **House Arrest** at a private residence of your choice. Be at the chosen property at 9:00am on Saturday to commence your sentence._

_Regards_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister of Magic_

Draco finished reading the letter and looked up into the beaming face of his mother. He stood up and held out his arms awkwardly to hug her.

“This is excellent news,” Draco decided, “Are you going to stay with Dromeda? I don’t like the idea of you being trapped in the Manor for a year.”

Narcissa nodded into his shoulder, “She had already declared that I have to stay. We’re going to pretend to be a pair of drunken old spinster aunts who lead the younger generation into mischief.”

“Only the ‘spinster’ part is untrue so what’s the point in pretending?”

“Don’t insult your mother unless you want the youngest Mr Weasley to receive the collection of naked baby photos of you to hang around the corridors of Hogwarts,” Andromeda threatened with a smile.

Draco appreciated his aunt more each day. If only Bellatrix had been the one to be exiled from the family, life would have been much more enjoyable.

“I’m sure your letter will arrive soon,” Narcissa continued, “You were a child; they can’t punish you more than me.”

Draco couldn’t agree with her; the knowledge of what he had been forced to do still haunted him.

They were alone in the living room thanks to Molly; no-one argued when she declared that the Malfoy’s had needed privacy. Dromeda winked at him before disappearing into the kitchen to chat with the rest of the inhabitants.

“We’re going to the Ministry to pay the fine this afternoon,” Narcissa continued, “Harry gets to babysit Teddy. Do you want to come too?”

Draco could clearly recall the snide comments he had endured during their last visit. He didn’t like being judged at the best of times; having spit flung at his feet was simply disgusting. Looking back, he had been glad that none had been aimed at his face.

“I think I’ll avoid the charming inhabitants of Diagon Alley for as long as possible,” Draco decided, “Their brand of scorn got old very fast.”

“I’ll get you some spending money anyway,” Narcissa decided, “How is your relationship with Miss Granger progressing?”

“Mother, it is hardly appropriate to share such details with you,” Draco tried to edge away from her perceptive gaze.

“Have you clearly articulated your desire to court her?”

“Mother!”

“Or at least asked her out? ‘Girlfriend’ isn’t exactly a lovely title, but it is a start.”

“Not yet.”

“The two of you were kissing yesterday!” Narcissa reminded him, “How obvious does she need to be?”

Draco was backing away when the beautifully manicured hand shot out to grip his bicep. She guided him into the kitchen with ease born of practise. Those fingernails could be weapons if he resisted.

“Miss Granger,” Narcissa greeted with a smile, “My son is clearly inept at the subtle art of wooing.”

Weasley and Potter were sniggering like prepubescent children. Draco wanted to melt into the floor.

“If he were to offer you a piece of jewellery as a testament to his honourable intentions would you accept?” Narcissa continued.

“Jewellery?” Hermione repeated worriedly, “Isn’t it a bit early for that?”

Molly reached out to pat her hand, “In Pureblood circles, offering jewellery is a precursor to an engagement. By wearing it, you would be announcing that you and Draco are committed to each other but not ready for the engagement stage.”

“Why don’t you just ask her to be your girlfriend?” Weaslette asked with a grin.

Hermione was hiding a little smile, which pissed Draco off even more.

“I was trying to be tactful!” he bellowed at the room, “A week ago she hated me! These things take time!”

“Hermione, would you like Draco to be your boyfriend?” Weaslette asked her friend directly.

Hermione nodded.

“Done!” Weaslette cried, “Now stop dancing around each other and start snogging. Was it really that hard?”

Narcissa was giggling.

“I hate you all!” Draco declared as he stomped out of the room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Severus was always a loyal friend,” Narcissa said sadly. Dromeda and Molly had offered to accompany her to the Ministry to pay the fine.

“Even knowing everything he did, he was still loyal to Draco and I. I could not have wished for a better friend.”

“Too bad you didn’t marry him,” Dromeda mused, “We could have been outcasts together and Draco wouldn’t have that pointed look about him.”

“He’s growing out of that,” Molly offered.

“Severus always saw me as a sister,” Narcissa mused, “He lost his heart to Lily Evans and was never able to retrieve it. His life was the true tragedy of the wars.”

“I can almost forgive him for being so horrid to the children,” Molly replied, “Almost.”

“He knew about Draco’s heritage,” Narcissa added, “Which makes me wonder what he has left Miss Granger in his will.”

A tall man wearing a murderous expression stepped out in front of them and glared at Narcissa.

“Fucking Death Eater! You should be in Azkaban.”

Molly shoved her wand into his chest, “Piss off before I make you regret waking up this morning.”

“I never thought I’d see a Weasley defend a bloody Malfoy!” he spat.

“Get your facts straight,” Dromeda ordered the man, “Narcissa was never a Death Eater. She has been judged by the Ministry so you can keep your nose in your own business.”

“You fucked a Death Eater and birthed another one,” he spat, “You are scum.”

“ _Levicorpus!_ ”

The man was suspended from his ankle above their heads at the direction of Molly’s wand.

“You are a very rude man,” Molly decided loudly. Another swish of her wand produced a neon sign which proclaimed “Bully! Also full of shit!” above the head of the man.

Dromeda gave him a one-fingered salute before the three of them continued on their way.

“When will he be able to get down?” Narcissa wondered. A small crowd had begun to gather around their victim.

Molly shrugged, “In a few hours. Sooner if he apologizes.”

“Let’s walk faster,” Dromeda suggested, “I’d hate to be accused of leaving trash hanging around to mess up the place.”

Their business at the Ministry was taken care of quickly. They were surprisingly efficient when a huge sum of money was being handed over.

Narcissa heard a few more derogatory comments while she was buying a few things for Draco. Molly and Dromeda were quick to step in on her behalf.

“I have missed having real friends,” she admitted as they left the store.

“The Pureblood snobs don’t count?” Dromeda wondered.

Narcissa rolled her eyes, “Could you imagine Posy Parkinson standing up for anyone other than herself? It was like living in a nest of vipers.”

“I don’t know how you survived,” Molly admitted.

“I didn’t have a choice. I had to be there for Draco; that was my only reason for existing.”

“It’s a big, expensive cage,” Dromeda agreed, “It hurt to be exiled by the family, but I do think I got the better deal.”

“I’m glad my parents decided not to bother with the Pureblood rubbish,” Molly mused, “I could have brought home a Muggle and they would have questioned his intentions and insisted he stay for dinner.”

“I am ashamed of the title ‘Death Eater’,” Narcissa sighed, “But I’ll proudly wear the label ‘Blood Traitor’ for as long as I live. When are we going to visit the cemetery?”

Dromeda giggled, which prompted Molly to ask what the joke was. By the time the three witches were preparing to Apparate back to the burrow they were grinning.

Draco watched the three women walk toward the house with a growing sense of dread. Watching his mother and his aunt bond and scheme had been intimidating enough; adding Mrs Weasley to the mix was bloody scary.

He swung around to warn the others of the impending arrival, only to be metaphorically slapped in the face by the image of Potter’s hands up Weaslette’s shirt. She was wearing a blue bra.

“Put it back in your pants Potter!” Draco hissed as he fled across the room. He was out the door before the first of the three witches stepped into the kitchen.

Weasley was hunting gnomes to fling across the fence. Hermione smiled at Draco as he emerged from the house.

“We’re all doomed!” Draco declared.

“Did you run out of hair gel, Malfoy?” Weasley asked snidely.

“Your mother, my mother and my aunt and laughing together Weasley!” Draco exclaimed.

Weasley lost his usual gormless expression. He clearly understood and shared the concern.

“So?” Hermione prompted.

Draco sighed, “They’re plotting something. Individually they are not to be messed with. Together they could overthrow the bloody Ministry.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “You’re being ridiculous.”

Weasley ran one hand through his hair, “He may have a point Hermione.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry had faced many unsettling situations in his life. He had faced death more times than he cared to remember. Yet nothing had prepared him for what he faced.

Twenty different types of wedding invitations were spread across the floor of the living room. They all looked the same.

“Isn’t it a bit early to be picking invitations?” he asked nervously.

Narcissa made a dismissive noise, “It’s never too early. As a matter-of-fact, is Hermione ready yet? She could pick hers out too.”

“Mother!” Draco hissed, “I only asked her out this morning. Quit trying to push us down the aisle.”

“You didn’t ask anyone out,” Narcissa reminded him absently, “Miss Weasley will have to be a bridesmaid at your wedding; she did you a big favour this morning.”

“They all look the same,” Harry decided.

Narcissa shook her head, “You’re as hopeless as my son.”

Both Draco and Harry protested that comment.

Ginny skipped down the stairs with her hair piled on top of her head, fresh nail polish on her nails and a something awful smeared on her face.

“Halloween costume?” Harry wondered.

Ginny sighed at him, “Seriously, were you raised by wolves?”

Harry shrugged, “The Dursley’s are pretty close.”

“This is a face mask Harry,” she explained patiently, “To clean my pores and stuff.”

“Your face looks better without the mask,” Harry decided. Even Draco rolled his eyes at the clueless wizard.

Hermione stomped down the stairs angrily. Draco could hear her cursing everyone within hearing range and hoped she did not have her wand pointed at anyone.

Like Weaslette, her hair was piled on top of her head and her nails were sporting colours. The face mask was hideous, but all Draco could see was her hair; it looked so diminished.

“I blame you for this!” Hermione declared, pointing a finger at Weaslette.

“It wasn’t my idea!” Weaslette protested, “Do you like the blue invitation or the cream one?”

“Your hair looks different,” Draco said worriedly, “Did Dromeda cut half of it off?”

The witch in question glided into view with Molly at her heels, “Nonsense! A simple smoothing charm and those bushy tangles became silky curls.”

“Excellent,” Narcissa decided, “Now we have to experiment with hair styles. Did you want it up or down for the wedding?”

Hermione shrugged, “Whatever Ginny wants I guess; it’s her wedding.”

Draco had seen the predatory expression his mother wore a few times in his life. Matchmaking and potential babies lit a fire inside her which could rage for days.

“The Potter-Weasley wedding will be a rehearsal really,” Narcissa said sagely, “I’m talking about the Malfoy-Granger wedding of course.”

Hermione spluttered at the witch and looked to Draco for support.

“I told you they were scary together!” Draco insisted, “And you didn’t believe me!”

“Hermione, you and Draco are expected to consummate your relationship well before the Veela instincts become too strong,” Narcissa explained. She pointed her wand at her son who was trying to escape the room. His legs locked together so he was forced to try to drag himself along with his arms.

Potter was too busy grinning at the display to bother helping. Weaslette shut the door so his exit was blocked.

“I expect to hear news of an official proposal before any bonding,” Narcissa continued, “I raised a gentleman who will treat you with curtesy no matter what strange impulses invade his brain.”

“Engaged is one thing!” Hermione argued, “I’d like a very long engagement! Years even.”

“Hermione, Veela are very fertile. I suspect you will be pregnant before you graduate Hogwarts and no grandchild of mine will be born out of wedlock due to sheer stubbornness.”

“I think that’s enough Cissy,” Dromeda declared, “You’ve made your expectations very clear. The rest is up to Draco.”

“As if I get a choice in this!” Draco growled, “She’s probably already got the honeymoon booked!”

“You always liked Italy,” Narcissa mused.


	40. Observations

Hermione felt a surge of relief wash over her body as Narcissa Malfoy disappeared through the fireplace. She had always thought Molly Weasley could be a bit bossy; Narcissa fell somewhere between a drill sergeant and a bloodthirsty dictator.

Draco slipped a hand around her elbow and leaned in to whisper to her; “I apologize for my cowardice. I really thought I was doing the right thing by giving you time to adjust.”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she replied softly, “Your Mother has terrorized me into appreciating how accommodating you have been. You’re right; we both need time to adjust.”

“Thank Merlin,” Draco muttered, “I was worried you were getting frustrated that I hadn’t proposed yet.”

Hermione snorted, “I would have run away if you’d tried that.”

“Is there a waiting period?” Draco wondered, “I’d like to know when a proposal would be welcomed rather than cause you to flee.”

Hermione caught his hand in hers, “I have a better idea; how about I do the proposing when the time comes?”

Hermione was quickly learning how to decipher the small facial movements which indicated his emotions. He was trying to hide his dismay at the thought of not being the one to propose.

“That’s not proper,” Draco managed. The crease between his eyebrows was a sure sign that he was trying to formulate a logical argument to strengthen his side.

Hermione laughed, which took the sting out of her suggestion, “The Malfoy heir is going to tie his life to a muggle-born witch who helped kill Voldemort. I think proper went out the window a while ago.”

“But -” Draco struggled for any shred of an argument while Hermione watched him calmly. The scent of her hair was quite tempting to him and she knew it.

“Equality and all that,” Hermione offered casually, “Believe me, if I could figure out a way to make you carry children, you’d get that job too.”

The thought of having a child one day was utterly distracting. Draco imagined a cheeky little girl with Hermione’s smile, crazy hair and his eyes.

“Don’t try to throw me off track!” Draco complained. Instincts he had only been dealing with for a few days were thrilled at the mere suggestion of procreating; something he had never given much thought to previously.

Hermione grinned at how flustered he was at the mention of their future together.

“How about a compromise? I’ll propose privately, and then you can propose publicly, and I’ll pretend to be surprised?”

Draco tried to splutter something about tradition, manners and expectations while Hermione stared him down. Draco fell silent when he realized there was no way to win the argument. The entire array of Slytherin manipulation techniques failed him, so he resorted to the Gryffindor bluntness she seemed to appreciate.

“How can I convince you to agree with me?” he wondered.

Hermione laughed at the question, knowing she had him cornered, “You can’t. The best option you have is to agree to the compromise and hope I’m a good actor.”

“What if you’re a terrible actor?” Draco asked.

“Then you can relax knowing that since you’ve arrived all my reactions have been genuine.”

Hermione stuck her tongue out at him before turning around and sauntering out of the room. Draco admired her backside before an awful though occurred to him.

“Wait a second! Are you saying that since I arrived you haven’t been genuine?”

The laughter from the next room didn’t reassure him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Molly recalled a conversation she had had with Arthur earlier in the day that had worried her. Draco was awake long into the night and was often the first one at the breakfast table in the morning; the Weasley parents were worried that he wasn’t sleeping and suspected he was concealing his nightmares from them.

After dinner Wixon and Moxie ushered the family out of the kitchen with distinctive Malfoy authority in their voices.

“I thought House Elves were supposed to be meek and polite,” Arthur mused as he sat down to watch the television with the family.

“The elves were always strict and bossy with me,” Draco offered, “Father treated Dobby like crap but Mother had authority over the rest of them; I swear she would give them lessons on how to order me about and they are fast learners.”

A few chuckles around the room made Hermione smile fondly at Draco; she knew how hard it was for him to share anything personal.

“Draco, have you been sleeping enough?” Molly asked curiously.

Hermione felt him stiffen beside her. His eyes darted to the left before he nodded at the Weasley matriarch.  
Draco could feel the concern and disapproval from his mate; somehow she knew he was lying. He had kept his emotions under strict control, so he was not sure what had tipped her off.

Hermione was still contemplating calling him out in front of everyone when Molly continued in her motherly way.

“Arthur always sees the light coming from under your door no matter how late he comes to bed,” she mused, “And you’re always up so early.”

“Do you sleep with a light?” Weaslette asked, “I still do; I hate the dark.”

Draco experienced the weak impulse to tease her for needing a night-light before it faded away completely. Oddly enough, he admired her casual bravery in admitting her vulnerability so easily.

“I wake up about six times a night,” Weasley admitted, “Bloody nightmares. I can understand the ones about Voldemort and Death Eaters, but why am I still being terrorised by spiders?”

Potter tried to hide a smile and failed, “You were funny last night Ron; you started yelling ‘where’s a shoe?’ and then you were clearly attacking something. I think you won that round.”

Weasley appeared chuffed with himself, “Good. Hairy little turds deserve what’s coming to them.”

“I still wake up fearing I’ve lost everyone,” Arthur sighed, “The worst nightmares are the ones where I know you’re alive and being tortured, and I can’t help.” He glanced around specifically at the females in the room and didn’t elaborate on the torture.

Draco had seen enough to know why he was so concerned; he didn’t bother to point out that Greyback and a few of the others enjoyed the company of young men, too.

“I’m due for another panic attack,” Hermione said honestly.

Draco reached out to hold her hand; just imagining her in the midst of such an event set him on edge.

“Snakes,” Draco said softly, “I can’t stand them now.”

Weasley snorted, “You might want to transfer out of Slytherin then.”

“Ron,” Hermione admonished.

Draco barely heard him as the memories resurfaced, “Nagini would slither around the Mansion like she owned the place. The slight scrape of her scales on the floor would send my heart racing. Did you know she only ever hissed when she was talking to the ugly bastard?”

All eyes were riveted on Draco, who stared at the floor blankly, “She would always be there when he was meeting with Death Eaters. She enjoyed brushing up against our feet; if we flinched he would laugh and make a comment about Nagini taking a liking to us.”

The image of Charity Burbage would not leave him alone.

“When he killed someone, he would invite the awful snake to eat like he was offering a treat to a puppy. No-one was allowed to leave the room; we had to stay and watch that filthy thing unhinge its jaw and stuff the body down its throat.”

Hermione watched the colour drain from Harry, Ron and Ginny’s faces while Draco continued to talk to the carpet. Molly and Arthur watched the blonde worriedly.

“They were lucky in a way; he killed them first. I watched a Muggle get eaten while she was still alive. She was incapacitated and totally aware of what was happening. I couldn’t eat or sleep for days after that.”

Hermione recognised the exact moment that Draco broke away from the memories. He glanced around quickly, and a slight blush stained his cheeks.

“So, no,” Draco finished lamely, “I don’t sleep well.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry watched with amusement as Hermione took charge. When she knew something had to be done she used all of her skills to boss people around, so her aims were achieved.

Malfoy wore a confused expression as she badgered him into lying on the lounge with his head in her lap. He stared at the brunette as though he had never seen her before.

Harry shared a smirk with Ron, who hastily looked away to avoid the stern gaze of Molly Weasley. Ginny pretended not to notice anything but winked at her fiancée conspiratorially.

“Is your neck at an awkward angle because of the cushion?” Hermione asked Draco worriedly.

“No, it’s fine. Is Weasley about to hex me for getting too close to you?”

“He’s pointedly ignoring us,” Hermione assured him.

“I’m trying to keep my dinner down!” Ron complained. Harry could see that there was no real malice in the words; the redhead had a short fuse sometimes but his capacity to forgive was immense.

Harry had let the memories from the Pensieve take the sting out of his past with Malfoy and he understood that the rivalry had always run deeper in Ron. He had always been protective of his two best friends whereas Ron had protected Hermione as a potential love interest. Seeing him push aside his own reservations and allow Hermione to be happy made Harry incredibly proud of his best friend.

Not that he could ever say such a thing without both of them turning red and losing the ability to speak coherently.

Thank Merlin for Ginny; Harry could spill every concern and frustration to her and know she would never judge him for it. She would no doubt congratulate Ron in his emerging maturity, so Harry didn’t have to.

Even as he tried to concentrate on the television program, or the way Ginny had her hand resting on his knee Harry found his thoughts wandering over to Hermione and the Veela in her lap. He wondered how many of the insults over the years had been genuine and how many had been forced.

Either way, Malfoy was a bloody good actor. How could they be sure he wasn’t putting on a show now?

The CRACK of a House Elf Apparating into the room disturbed the thoughts which were making him frown. Harry couldn’t tell if it was the male or the female elf who was regarding the room thoughtfully.

“Would anyone like a cup of tea?” the Elf asked regally. From the voice Harry realized it was the female; Moxie.

Once the requests for tea or hot chocolate had been finalised the elf smiled at the sleeping blonde on the lounge.

“Your plan worked, Lady Weasley,” Moxie said quietly.

“Plan?” Hermione repeated with a distinct tone of annoyance.

“Former Master Draco has not slept well in years,” Moxie supplied quietly, “When I was serving him directly I could not interfere to help.”

“I knew that once you found out Draco was not sleeping properly you would take action,” Molly added, “Merlin knows he wouldn’t listen to anyone else.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” Hermione huffed.

“Miss Granger is not predictable yet,” Moxie replied, “If you had asked Former Master Draco directly he would have made excuses to avoid worrying you.”

“Just call him ‘Draco’,” Ginny offered.   
Moxie blinked at her before nodding gravely, “As you wish Miss Weasley and Future Mrs Potter.”

Harry grinned at that name. Ginny wanted to be annoyed but the sound of ‘Mrs Potter’ was far too pleasing.

“I’m just Mr Potter, right?” Harry asked hopefully.

Moxie shook her head and her ears flapped, “You are Mr Potter, the Boy Who Lived and Saviour of the Wizarding World.”

“Harry is fine,” he insisted.

“Alright then Mr Harry; the Boy Who Lived and Saviour of the Wizarding World.”

Ginny giggled at the exasperation in his face.

“Do I get a fancy title?” Ron asked curiously.

“Youngest Mr Weasley?” Moxie offered.

Ron frowned, “Well it’s better than Weasel,” he muttered.


	41. Midnight Meeting

“Ron, stop being a prat!”

The sound of his mate becoming agitated pushed Draco across the line from asleep to befuddled and struggling to remember events before he had fallen asleep.

“Come on, when I snore you poke me with something sharp!” an annoying voice declared, “How come when it’s him, it’s ‘cute’?”

“You snored so loud at school that the Thestrals would take flight from the Forbidden Forest,” a third voice teased, “Malfoy is nowhere near as loud.”

He had been snoring? How embarrassing.

Draco realized that he was listening to Potter and Weasley bickering while the warm body he was snuggled up to remained still. He could feel a hand brush through his hair.

“You yell in your sleep,” Weasley retorted, “How could you hear anything over that?”

“Ron, people in London would complain about your snoring,” Potter replied.

“You’re so bloody funny Harry,” Weasley said sarcastically, “Remember that time you were dreaming about Cho and you -”

“Ron! Don’t make me hit you!” Potter growled.

“Shut-up both of you!” Weaslette snapped. Unsurprisingly, they both fell silent.

“Go to bed,” Hermione said, “I’ll take care of Draco.”

Weaslette giggled, “I’m sure you will.”

“He can’t sleep there,” Weasley complained, “You’ll be up all night.”

Draco opened his eyes to see part of Hermione’s face being obscured by her breasts. It was a lovely sight.

“He’s awake,” Weaslette announced, “Ron, look away before you get brain damage.”

“Too late,” Draco yawned, “He was born that way.”

“Why didn’t we suffocate him in his sleep?” Weasley asked Potter. The latter just shrugged.

“Because it’s too hard to hide the bodies,” Weaslette replied casually, “And mum would get cranky.”

“That’s why,” Potter mused, “Your mum is a scary woman sometimes.”

“And you’re going to marry the younger version,” Draco snorted, “Prepare yourself Potter.”  
“That’s rich coming from you,” Weaslette decided, “Hermione has already got you whipped.”

“I knew you were into bondage,” Draco said to the redheaded witch, “Has she tied you up yet, Potter?”

Hermione caught his ear between two of her fingers. He yelped in pain and was shushed by the rest of the room.

“Mum and dad went to bed,” Weaslette explained, “If you wake them up I’m going to tell them it was a Veela mating call.”

“I prefer my ears to remain attached,” Draco said to Hermione pointedly.

“George is a war hero so he can get away with missing an ear,” Weasley said with a grin, “You’d just be a moron who didn’t know when to shut up.”

“That’s your area of expertise Ron,” Weaslette teased, “Now that he’s stopped snoring, we can all go to bed.”

“Give them a head start Weasley,” Draco advised seriously, “They need to be deeply unconscious before your snoring makes the house shake.”

“The house does not shake!” Weasley complained. After a moment he glanced at Hermione, “Does it?”

“You need to ignore him, Ron,” Weaslette advised, “He’s trying to annoy you.”

“And succeeding,” Draco agreed.

Hermione grabbed his ear again, “Stop provoking Ron; it’s not dignified.”

“And trying to rip my ear off is the height of civilised behaviour?” Draco demanded.

“If you won’t listen to reason; yes.”

“I think Hermione needs a pair of handcuffs,” Weaslette whispered loudly.

“And a gag to use on Malfoy,” Potter agreed, “I’m going to bed.”

Weasley began to follow the couple upstairs before he paused to look back at Hermione and Draco. He shook his head at how close they were to each other and tried not to let the image make him feel nauseous.

“Do I need to buy you a pair of handcuffs?” Draco asked Hermione with a mischievous grin.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione parted from Draco in the hall and settled in to sleep in the room she shared with Ginny. The odd combination of emotions she could feel echoing from the taciturn blonde were confirming her suspicions.

She waited until Ginny was breathing heavily and regularly to slip back out of bed.

The door to Charlie’s room was open and Draco was no-where to be seen.

Hermione was careful to remain as silent as possible as she headed downstairs. She whispered ‘Lumos’ so she could look around the living room for the missing Slytherin.

She found nothing in the house, so she turned her attention to the shed he had changed into a bedroom.

The echo of wary suspicion which blossomed within her chest confirmed her suspicions; not only was he in the shed, he was wide awake too.

“You can’t hide from me Draco,” Hermione said pleasantly. The edge of the shed was illuminated by the light from her wand and she knew his hearing was acute enough to hear her.

“You should be in bed asleep,” Draco grumbled from the doorway.

“So should you,” Hermione replied smoothly as she entered the room, “And yet you’re out here in the dark stressing about itchy gums.”

Draco watched her stretch out on his bed as though she owned it, “How do you know they’re itching again?”

Hermione conjured a ball of light to add a dim light to the room so she could tuck her wand away. Veela apparently had great night vision whereas hers was simply awful.

“I saw that they looked inflamed while you were snoring in my lap,” she replied, “My parents are dentists and were always obsessed with making sure I knew how to look after my teeth and gums.”

Draco could feel the pang of sadness which accompanied the mention of her parents.

“And considering your lousy sleeping patterns, and your nap earlier I figured you were going to come out here and feel sorry for yourself for the rest of the night,” Hermione continued in a know-it-all tone which Draco clearly remembered from school, “So, come over here and cuddle up to me instead.”

Somehow, the last part had always been left out of their childhood rants at each other.

Draco allowed Hermione to pull him closer, so his head was resting on her shoulder. Her heartbeat did nothing for the itch in his gums. He could clearly hear the accelerated rhythm to match the anxiety she was feeling.

“You’re going to need to bite me soon, aren’t you?” She asked quietly.

Something feral shifted within him. The image of his body pinning hers to the bed and his fangs sinking into her shoulder was disturbingly arousing. His mind wandered further into depravity as he contemplated biting her on the inside of her thigh instead. A deep growl rumbled out of his chest.

“Draco?” Hermione whispered.

He could feel her fear and he didn’t like it. He wrestled the odd instincts back under control.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Hermione wanted to deny she had been afraid, yet she did not want to lie.

“I know.”

“Fleur said something about taking small nips of your blood to keep the urges at bay,” Draco admitted to her collarbone.

Hermione giggled, which only confused the Veela cuddled up to her. He realized that her amusement was genuine when the emotional echo reached him.

“Gryffindors are weird,” Draco decided as he sat up.

Hermione enjoyed the confused expression on his face, “I imagined you as a mosquito flying around trying to bite me. Then I knew someone would make a joke about you wanting to be swatted.”

Draco shook his head at her renewed giggling, “You were afraid of me a few seconds ago. I’ll never understand women.”

“You’re not supposed to understand women,” Hermione replied as the giggling faded, “It’s part of our allure. Anyway, I wasn’t afraid of you, I was afraid of the bite being painful.”

“Same thing,” Draco muttered.

“No, it’s not!” Hermione insisted hotly as she sat up, “Someone can be afraid of needles without being afraid of the doctor.”

“What’s a needle? A doctor is a Muggle Healer right?”

“It’s how Muggles administer medicines instead of potions,” Hermione explained, “Through a hollow tube which is sharp enough to cut through the skin and into a blood vessel.”

Draco was horrified by the image, “That sounds like some sort of torture the Dark Bastard would use.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Maybe Muggles are just tougher than Wizards? Anyway, Muggles use needles to take blood when it needs to be tested. Your fangs are a lot thicker but there must be some sort of chemical deterrent to the pain we just don’t know about yet. A numbing agent would make sense. I could do some research into various animals which use a similar mechanism.”

Draco listened to her jump around the topic with an indulgent smile. Her tendency to babble when she was nervous was rather charming.

“You should laugh again,” Draco said quietly to her chin.

“You like hearing me laugh?”

“Your breasts move when you laugh,” Draco admitted with a smile, “I like watching them.”

Hermione snorted, “Just when I think you’re being romantic, you say something like that.”

“Would you rather romantic drivel comparing your eyes to the stars or something?”

“Probably not.”

“That’s what I love about you,” Draco mused absently, “You don’t want the flowery crap when you can have honestly.”

Hermione caught his shoulder and gently pushed him back onto the mattress. He relaxed into the movement, so his back had to be healed enough to lay on. She snuggled up next to him and shifted around into a comfortable position. Finally, with the edge of the pillow under her head, she allowed her body to press up against his side. His previous words would not stop echoing through her mind. He had mentioned the word ‘love’ so casually it was scary.

He ran his hands along her arms and her body tingled with something strange. He always left her feeling off balance, which was not a sensation she was accustomed to.

“Go to sleep,” she encouraged softly, “I think I need to be here for you to relax properly. Do you drool in your sleep?”

Draco savoured the sensation of her soft body leaning against his. Her hair smelled of the apple shampoo she used. He huffed a small chuckle and assured her that he did not drool in his sleep. Truthfully he wasn’t sure; he hadn’t had a decent night sleep in a very long time.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ginny woke up alone in her room. Hermione had been in bed the previous night, but the young redhead was still deeply suspicious of the absence of the brunette. It was still too early for her parents to be awake, so she tiptoed past their bedroom door carefully.

She found Ron and Harry sitting at the table wearing similar expressions. For an awful moment Ginny wondered who had died.

“We can’t find Hermione or Malfoy,” Harry said worriedly as soon as Ginny appeared.

“Have you checked the shed?” Ginny asked.

Harry shook his head frantically, “No way! I’m sure they’re out there!”

It was too early in the morning for guessing games. Ginny let a sliver of irritation creep into her tone, “Then what are you stressing about?”

Ron gulped, “What if they’re naked? Seriously Gin, I’m holding onto my sanity by a thread; if I have to see Malfoy’s bare arse I will end up in St Mungo’s.”

“Fine, I’ll check,” Ginny yawned.

“No!” Harry cried, rather panicked.

“Why not?”

Ron snickered while Harry blushed and muttered, “I don’t want you seeing Malfoy in the buff either.”

“Are you worried I’ll vomit on him and take a vow of celibacy?” Ginny sighed, knowing perfectly well that her fiancée was insecure.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Harry agreed.

“Malfoy is usually up by now,” Ron muttered.

“Maybe they’re out there having sex?” Ginny suggested with a sneaky grin.

Harry pushed his bowl of cereal away, “I feel sick. Why did you have to say that?”

“She wouldn’t,” Ron said worriedly, looking rather pale, “It’s been less than a week.”

“He’s a Veela,” Ginny teased, “With all sorts of powers to seduce.”

“Hermione wouldn’t fall for that,” Harry muttered.

Ginny sat down with her bowl of cereal and an evil smile, “Maybe he doesn’t have to? What if she is the one out to seduce him? She’s nearly nineteen; do you really think she has no sex drive?”

Ron was wearing an expression of impending panic which only encouraged his sister. Harry was watching his fiancée through narrowed eyes.

“Why are you torturing us?” Harry asked, “You know Hermione isn’t the type to fall into bed after a few days.”

Ginny pointed her spoon at him, “Because you two are being stupid. When the times comes for them to actually sleep together I expect you two to keep your mouths shut.”

Ron shook his head, “That won’t be easy, as I’ll be vomiting.”


	42. The Daily Prophet 1

Draco woke up abruptly, as he usually did. It took him a few moments to realize that he was safe, and Hermione was asleep next to him.

He recalled the visit he had to make to the Ministry the following day to hear the Will of Severus Snape. The prospect of setting foot in Diagon Alley to face the accusing eyes and nasty comments of strangers was daunting at best. Even worse was when he encountered someone he knew, or a former friend, who had turned on him.

The lingering shreds of dignity he had desperately held onto during the war would not let him disguise his appearance.

Draco could almost hear Lucius saying something arrogant about a Malfoy never hiding from others. He rolled his eyes at the thought and hoped that his Father was learning some humility wherever he was.

Hermione would be there to support him, which was a cheering realization. Even Potter and Weaslette would probably step in to make sure he wasn’t cursed into oblivion by some angry mob. Probably.

Draco still found it astonishing that in less than a week the Annoying Duo had gone from enemies to reluctant acquaintances.

A shimmering, white horse burst through the wall of the shed. Draco clutched Hermione closer to him instinctively.

Weaslette’s voice announced, “You have two minutes before we come in; make sure you’re both fully dressed, or we’ll take photos and send them to the Daily Prophet!”

Draco gaped at the horse as it faded from existence.

“Piss off, Ginny,” Hermione mumbled sleepily.

Draco had transfigured his clothes into a nightshirt and a pair of boxer shorts, so he didn’t have to worry about flashing anyone. Hermione was similarly covered in a matching set of summer pyjamas decorated by owls. Her long legs were hidden under the blankets; he pulled them up higher to cover her shoulders too.

The spectral horse intrigued him; he suspected it was a corporeal Patronus. He did not want to ask Potter or Weasley to teach him anything, so he resolved to ask Hermione later.

Draco appreciated his enhanced hearing since he had transitioned. He could hear Weaslette approaching and she was not alone.

“Bloody Malfoy,” Weasley was complaining, “Why can’t he sleep in a normal bed like the rest of us? I swear, if he’s naked in there I’m going to hex him.”

“Fine, I’ll go first,” Weaslette offered, “I’m curious to know what’s under his robes.”

Potter made a strangled noise which made Draco smirk at the ceiling.

“Come on Harry,” Weaslette laughed, “It’s like window shopping; look but don’t touch.”

“Sometimes I’m sure you’re adopted,” Weasley declared, “Or, far more traumatized by the war than any Healer could possibly help with.”

“It’s perfectly healthy to be able to appreciate an attractive male specimen,” Weaslette said haughtily.

“Please don’t,” Potter managed, “It’s bad enough that I had to get advice from that git; if I have to watch you checking him out I might have to take a vow of celibacy.”

“Harry, you know I love you,” Weaslette cooed, “But I’m engaged, not dead.”

Draco rolled his eyes at the doorway. Were they really expecting him to be lying around stark naked? Hadn’t they ever heard of manners?

Weaslette opened the door carefully and peered inside.

“No luck, Weaslette,” Draco said in a bored tone, “This Veela doesn’t display the goods for anyone except his mate.”

Weaslette snorted and pulled the door completely open, “You’ve barely kissed her; you’re a long way from getting any clothes off.”

Hermione shifted against him, “Ronald ate my homework,” she muttered.

Weaslette giggled at the outburst while Potter and Weasley peeked around her.

“I’ve never eaten any homework,” Weasley complained.

“Of course not,” his sister agreed, “You’d have to do it first, otherwise you’re just eating parchment.”

“Go away,” Draco said to the three of them, “Clearly my lady needs more sleep.”

“Your ‘Lady’ is drooling on you,” Potter pointed out.

“And your ‘Lady’ wants to see me naked,” Draco replied, “Deal with your own problems, Scarhead.”

“Someone is a grumpy git in the morning,” Weasley decided, “I’d rather listen to Mum fuss over the House Elves than stay here.”

Weaslette grinned at the blonde before Potter guided her away from the doorway.

“I didn’t say I _want_ to see him naked,” he could hear Weaslette arguing, “Just that I wouldn’t be traumatised if I did.”

“Are they gone?” Hermione mumbled.

“Yes,” Draco replied with a smile. Her hair was more of a mess than usual.

“I don’t want them seeing you naked, either,” Hermione decided sleepily.

Draco smiled down at the witch who was sprawled on him with such trust. An unfamiliar emotion spread through him.

He realized that for the first time in years, he was content.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ginny took the copy of the Daily Prophet from the owl and held out a treat for the creature in return. She sat back down and opened the paper with another yawn.

Harry heard her horrified shriek a moment later. Within seconds he was standing behind her so he could read over her shoulder.

“Surviving Weasley Twin descends into Alcoholism!” the headline blared, along with a picture of George on the ground next to a bottle of Firewhiskey.

“Shit,” Harry said worriedly.

Ron skidded into the room wearing a hard expression. His eyes had taken in the closed door and undamaged windows before he realized there was no imminent threat. He approached his sister and best friend warily. He cursed when he read the headline.

“He seemed fine on Sunday,” Harry recalled.

“I knew he was drinking,” Ron said miserably, “He can’t sleep without nightmares and he doesn’t want to get addicted to a potion.”

“Maybe the Prophet is full of crap?” Ginny suggested hopefully, “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

By the time Draco and Hermione entered the kitchen Molly was awake and issuing orders.

“Finally!” she cried at the sight of the couple, “Get dressed quickly; you have five minutes before we leave for Diagon Alley!”

“Why?” Hermione asked worriedly, “What’s happened?”

Molly held out the copy of the Daily Prophet before leaving the room to yell at the rest of the family about the time restraints.

“Your back is healed enough to wear a full shirt,” Hermione said quietly to Draco, “If everyone is going, including Arthur, you need to go too.”

With a mounting sense of dread Draco went up to Charlie’s room and found some suitable clothes. He was relieved to feel the weight of proper robes again, even if his back itched from the contact. He re-joined Hermione in the living room and ignored the stomach which was grumbling for food.

“Maybe we shouldn’t hold hands in public yet,” Draco said to her quietly.

He could feel the wave of anger and assumed that she had taken his words the wrong way.

“It’s one thing for someone to yell insults at me,” Draco explained, “But if they target you I won’t be able to stop myself from attacking them.”

Hermione nodded sadly, “As long as you’re not ashamed of me.”

“Never! If anything, you should be embarrassed to be seen with me.”

“Well I’m not,” she declared defiantly.

“I am,” Weasley said casually as he entered the room.

“Am what?” Potter called from part-way up the stairs.

“Ashamed to be seen with Malfoy,” Weasley responded.

Potter wandered into the room looking like he had never encountered a brush in his life, “Well, der.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Hermione decided, “And if someone starts threatening to beat him up you’ll stand aside and cheer?”

Draco was uncomfortable being spoken of so openly. He didn’t need the redhead to confirm that, given the opportunity, he would join in and throw a few punches.

Weasley looked thoughtful, “Probably not.”

“He’s a prat, but we’re the only ones allowed to beat him up,” Weaslette announced happily, “It’s like the deal with Percy; he’s annoying as hell but he’s one of us.”

Draco realized that no-one had ever declared their loyalty to him so openly. It was sweet and incredibly annoying.

“Since when was I dragged into the Weasley family?” he demanded, “Was there a vote? How do I undo this freaky adoption?”

Weaslette grinned at him, “Hermione was adopted years ago; you can’t have her without the rest of us tagging along.”

“Molly and Arthur are the aunt and uncle I always wanted,” Hermione confirmed.

“You can have the Dursley’s,” Potter offered.

“You’re all crazy,” Draco decided.

“Welcome to the madness,” Arthur laughed as he strode through the room toward the fireplace, “Remember it’s ‘Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes’; I don’t want anyone to end up in Knockturn Alley.”

Weasley laughed, “Harry, try Wanting Wizards and Witches and see where you end up.”

“Ronald!” Molly shrieked from behind them, “How do you know about that place?”

Draco watched the brother in question turn bright red and offer to be the first to leave. Potter only looked confused.

Once Draco, Hermione and Potter were the last ones left in the living room he finally took pity on the raven-haired wizard.

“Potter, the place he mentioned is a brothel,” Draco said smugly.

Hermione glared at him, “And how do you know that?”

Draco shrugged, “Theo’s dad was a regular. He tried to take Theo when he was twelve.”

Potter grabbed some floo powder and was still shaking his head when he disappeared.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Welcome to the party!” a slurred voice yelled as Draco stepped out of the fireplace. The room was filled with boxes and concerned redheads.

Hermione caught Draco by the arm and pulled him away from the crowd of people.

“Let’s leave them to figure things out,” she said hurriedly, “Lee needs help stacking the shelves.”

Joining the huddle of Weasley’s was not at all appealing so Draco let Hermione lead him toward the front of the shop. He remembered Lee Jordan from school as the annoying Gryffindor who would speak drivel while Quidditch games were being played.

“Thanks Hermione, I’m flat out with -” Lee fell silent when he noticed the blonde behind her, “What the hell is _he_ doing here?”

“It’s lovely to see you again Lee,” Draco said smoothly, “Hermione insists you need help?”

“Not from a bloody Death Eater,” Lee declared, “Get out.”

Hermione had her wand in his face before he could move, “Draco is with me. Do you want my help or not?”

Lee relented, as Draco expected. No-one could look Hermione in the face while she was so angry and not cower slightly.

“Those boxes need to be unpacked; the shelves are nearly empty but clearly marked,” Lee said tightly, “If anything goes missing, I’ll see you shoved in Azkaban Malfoy.” He stalked away without a further word.

Draco rolled his eyes, “He thinks he’s more threatening than the Wizengamot?”

“He’s angry and frustrated that he can’t help George,” Hermione said easily, “You’re an easy target.”

“I’m sure he will be the first in a long line of people wishing me a quick trip to Azkaban and an early death,” Draco mused darkly as he shoved a line of stock onto the shelf. He prodded a few into line so it looked relatively neat.

“And there will probably be a few Slytherins who blame me for their parents being dead or in Azkaban,” Hermione continued, “They’re all struggling to cope and acting out. Even we are.”

“Act out?” Draco teased, “Never.”

“You enjoy provoking Harry and Ron,” Hermione said while reaching for another armload of stock, “It’s stress-relief and you know it.”

“It’s so easy,” Draco mused, “Now I can’t use you as a trigger I have to be more creative. What’s his favourite Quidditch team?”

Hermione sighed, “Cannons. Now keep your temper in check for the next ten minutes and we can spend time snogging tonight.”

“Seriously?” Draco was grinning. The gentle kisses of the previous day were a prelude to the serious make-out sessions he was imagining.

“Dead serious,” Hermione confirmed.

“Who the fuck let him in here?” an outraged female voice demanded.

“Hello, Angelina,” Hermione offered with a tight smile, “Alicia, Katie.”

The three women glared at Draco with hatred. He was just thankful that they hadn’t drawn their wands. Yet.


	43. Stirring

Draco wanted to stare at the floor, but his eyes were captured by the glare Katie Bell was aiming at him. At least he deserved her hatred.

“Katie -” he began.

Her wand was pointing between his eyes a moment later, “Don’t talk to me, you piece of shit.”

“I want to apologize,” Draco managed.

“Don’t bother,” Katie snapped, “I wouldn’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth.”

“Wands away,” Hermione ordered coldly, “Draco is in the custody of Arthur Weasley. Any attempts to harm him will be considered an attack on the Ministry itself.”

“Shove him in a cell and get it over with,” Alicia Spinnet declared dismissively, “It’s bad enough that he is alive; why is he _here_?”

“Prisoner release program,” Draco replied smoothly, “I’m here to make friends.”

Hermione shoved Draco down one of the aisles to escape the furious trio of witches.

“If you take a curse in the back for me, I will be very pissed off,” Draco said in a soft voice.

“Stop provoking pissed off witches with chaser reflexes!” Hermione hissed.

“I tried to apologize,” Draco reminded her, “She didn’t want to hear it. All three of the want to be pissed off at me; if that makes them feel better who am I to deny them?”

His argument sounded oddly logical. Hermione glared at him anyway.

“I find it scary that you have such a well-thought-out reason to piss people off,” she decided.

Draco shrugged, “I play to my strengths.”

“It’s time to develop some new ones,” Hermione said flatly, “Your previous persona never earned you any friends.”

Draco felt any remaining humour flee through his feet. She was right; he had never had any friends. Even Theo didn’t really know him. He wondered how his mother’s other son would react to a Draco who wasn’t strutting around like an arrogant Malfoy and repeating the rubbish Lucius kept spewing out.

Hermione caught his hand, “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“Maybe, but it was also accurate. I think I’d prefer to hide somewhere until Arthur returns to the Burrow.”

Luckily in a store as overfilled as Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes it was not difficult to hide from people who wanted to hex him into oblivion. Draco was oddly relieved to find himself facing a wall of Weasley family members.

“Give up already, Malfoy?” Lee Jordan asked sarcastically.

“Some of your customers were unhappy so I retreated to avoid pissing them off,” Draco replied coldly, “Unless you would prefer to have a mob out there protesting my presence?”

Lee muttered something unsavoury before stalking away.

“I hate Diagon Alley,” Draco sighed.

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The sight of the living room of the Burrow had never been a more welcome. Hermione didn’t stop Draco stalking away without another word; he was better off working through his frustrations alone for a while. Once she felt the loneliness take over, she would seek him out.

“Home sweet home!” George crowed. Arthur lowered his son onto the lounge and shook his head at the sight.

“Daddy is disappointed,” George moaned, “But when I look in the mirror I see Fred again!”

Hermione rolled her eyes at his stupidity. Seeing double and pretending he was seeing his twin utterly stupid.

Yet, the hurt expression Draco had worn when she had glibly pointed out his lack of friends kept her silent. She had always been too judgemental and regretted her words after they were heard.

Arthur muttered something about making George a coffee and left the room. Hermione sat down next to the inebriated wizard.

“’Ermione is worried,” George mused, “Is your pet Veela having trouble with toilet training?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “I’m worried about you, you moron.”

George sighed, “Everyone worries about Georgie. Yet when drinking helps take the pain away, they worry even more.”

Hermione knew that nothing she could say would help; she didn’t know what it was like to have half of herself ripped away.

“We worry that you will hurt yourself while you’re drunk off your arse,” Hermione pointed out, “You should move back in here, so you have company when you crawl into a bottle.”

“I’m not good company,” George mused.

Arthur returned from the kitchen and set a coffee on the side table near George.

“Who cares?” Hermione asked rhetorically, “We can use your room as a ‘Drunk Tank’ to store you until you sober up when you annoy us.”

“Please move back in here George,” Arthur pleaded, “Your mother worries about you so much that she can barely sleep.”

“I’ll share the Firewhiskey,” George offered lazily, “She’ll sleep like a log.”

“George, you are going to move back in here tonight,” Hermione said firmly, “Hiding from the grief will not help anyone.”

“You’re still as bossy as ever,” George mused, “How does Malfoy put up with you?”

“No idea.”

“I’ll move back in if you get drunk with me,” George bargained.

“It’s nine in the morning,” Hermione pointed out.

“What time is acceptable to get sloshed?”

Hermione shrugged, “Evening?”

“The woman who rode a dragon out of Gringotts is worried about being judged for getting drunk before lunch,” George giggled.

“I’ll start moving your stuff back in,” Arthur decided, “Your mother will be so happy.”

George watched his father leave through the floo silently. Really, he didn’t care where he lived; Fred wasn’t going to come back anyway.

“Angelina seemed pretty worried about you,” Hermione pointed out, “Is there something going on there?”

George stared up at the ceiling with a frown, “No.”

“She’s beautiful, intelligent and funny,” Hermione mused, “Perhaps you’re gay?”

George huffed, “Angelina wanted Fred. I’m just the poor stand-in.”

His words were so final and devoid of hope that she felt tears sting her eyes. She shifted closer to the miserable wizard and pulled him into a hug.

“You’re not a second-choice to anyone,” Hermione reassured him fiercely, “You just need to learn how to be an individual rather than part of a pair.”

“So far, it sucks big time,” George muttered into her hair.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco was pacing in the garden. The whirlwind of emotions he was being bombarded with were extremely aggravating. Didn’t she realize that her compassion led to vulnerability?

He had always longed for siblings, and yet he found himself thanking Merlin that he was an only child. How did the Weasley children endure having such a small sliver of the attention in the family?

Draco knew he was selfish and demanding; the behaviour had been reinforced so many times it was ridiculous. Knowing he was being unreasonable did not stop him from being furious that his mate was intent on comforting another male. A single male. A slightly older, successful and not homosexual, single male.

Where were the rest of the Weasley family? Why wasn’t Molly smothering her drunken son with affection to help him heal?

Why did he have to share the woman he couldn’t even claim yet?

The invisible bonds pulling him toward her would not let him stay away for long. He hovered in the doorway and watched George Weasley lean into his mate. The fantasy image of a clear bite mark on her neck beckoned enticingly. If the innards of the Weasley brother happened to end up splattered on the wall, that would be an added bonus.

“Is Malfoy going to kill me for getting a hug?” George asked.

“No,” Hermione replied firmly, “He’s not a killer.”

“Though it is pretty tempting,” Draco growled from behind them.

Hermione startled and wrinkled her nose at him, “I need to put a bell on you.”

George appeared disinterested in his presence, “If you’re going to kill me, make sure you limit the mess; Mum will have a fit.”

The complete lack of fear George displayed helped Draco to wrestle the Veela instincts into submission. He sat down carefully next to Hermione.

“I may not be a killer, but some serious maiming wouldn’t bother me,” Draco decided.

“You’re being a brat,” Hermione pointed out as she withdrew slightly from George.

“You could hug _me_ ,” Draco insisted.

George disentangled himself from Hermione, lurched to his feet and grinned stupidly at Draco.

“Alright, if you really want a hug,” George sighed dramatically as he plonked down in Draco’s lap. Hermione giggled into her hands.

George grinned foolishly at the furious blonde.

“Do you have a death wish?” Draco growled.

George shrugged, “Only on bad days. Didn’t you want a hug?’

In a deceptively calm voice Draco replied, “Get off me before I stab these through your neck.” He held up one hand which had claws sliding out of the tips.

“Don’t you want to wait until everyone comes home to see how well we’re getting along?” George teased.

“I would pay to see that,” Hermione gasped through her laughter.

Draco shoved the annoying Weasley off his lap in one violent movement. He pointed one clawed finger at the man who was still grinning inanely.

“Never touch me again,” he hissed.

Hermione shifted over so she could tuck herself under his arm and press herself against his torso. She knew her touch was what he needed to calm down and not hurt anyone.

“He’s just being stupid,” she assured him, “He’s going to move back in here so the family can support him. Clearly, annoying you is a welcome distraction.”

Draco needed more. Her gentle touch wasn’t enough.

Hermione was trying to interpret the cold expression on his face when he slipped one hand to the back of her neck and kissed her. His tongue remained light and elusive even as his hands slipped down to her back.

Draco’s movements were born of practise and instinct. He had her leaning back on the lounge within seconds.

“Alright!” George yelled, “I’m bloody sober now! Dear Merlin, did you have to be so cruel?”

Hermione giggled and pushed Draco away. He allowed her to manhandle him, so he was in a seated position rather than lying on top of her.

“Why are you still here?” Draco asked George flatly.

“I live here,” George sulked, “Though I’m regretting that already. Do you two get hexed often for damaging people with displays like that?”

Hermione was blushing, “We don’t do that often.”

“Not often enough, that’s for sure,” Draco added, “It’s Potter and your sister you need to watch out for. Whenever Molly goes out, Weaslette gets this feral look in her eye.”

George frowned at that image, “That’s my little sister you’re talking about.”

“She’s a predator and Potter is the prey,” Draco disagreed, “Get between them at your own peril.”

“He’s only exaggerating slightly,” Hermione added, “Harry looks at her like she’s an angel who just stepped out of Heaven.”

“Well, that’s better,” George mused.

Draco rolled his eyes at the description, “You are such a girl. Potter watches her the same way a starving man watches a buffet.”

“I need another drink,” George groaned, “My innocent, little baby sister is not a buffet. Not even for Harry.”

“Innocent my left -” Draco began. Hermione wacked him in the shoulder with her small hand and glared at him.

“Are you always this violent?” Draco demanded of her.

“Only around you,” Hermione replied tartly.

George was still processing what Draco had said, and the awful implications. His mind was far too sober for the images his brain was torturing him with.

“What are you hiding, Hermione?” George asked worriedly.

“Me? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Do you need another coffee?” Hermione was on her feet and heading to the kitchen as she spoke.

“If I have to contemplate my sister not being innocent anymore I need a case of the strongest Firewhiskey known to the world,” George decided.

“No Firewhiskey,” Hermione argued, “Your Mother would lock you up until you’re thirty.”

“Weaslette is as innocent as the day she was born,” Draco replied soothingly, “I’m convinced she was a she-demon from conception, so Potter is the only one who was corrupted.”

“Draco!” Hermione hissed.

“Is that the wrong word?” he asked innocently, “What’s the correct terminology these days?”

Draco dodged her while she tried to hit him with a pillow.

George glared at Draco, “The-Boy-Who-Lived -”

“Is now the Boy-Who-Shagged,” Draco cackled.


	44. Verdict

Draco had forgotten about the fierce temper which had led to a broken nose in Third Year. He had also forgotten that when defending those she loved, Hermione was a ruthless dragon intent on causing pain and suffering.

George alternated between laughing at the way the blonde was magically tied up and trapped on the living room floor and cursing Potter for seducing his sister.

“She didn’t need to be seduced,” Draco offered, “If anything, she was the aggressor.”

“Do you want to be silenced too?” Hermione growled from across the room.

“This is so unfair,” Draco complained, “I’m defending your precious Potter with the truth. You should be thanking me, Granger.”

“She’s back to ‘Granger’?” George observed.

“While I’m tied up and it has nothing to do with sex, she doesn’t get to hear her first name from me,” Draco huffed.

The tapping of a cluster of owls drew Hermione into the kitchen.

“I bet she’s kinky,” George mused, “I hope you like being tied up, Malfoy.”

“I’ll ask Potter about the best way to escape,” Draco replied with a smirk, “Assuming he has figured anything out.”

“Stop talking about my sister like that!” George grumbled.

“I only mentioned Potter.”

“Well clearly you implied Ginny was involved, unless Ron ties him up for fun!”

The image sent Draco into hysterical laughter. George was soon sprawled on the carpet and gasping for air too.

Hermione held a bundle of letters in her hands and watched in fascination as Draco and George slowly recovered their composure. After years of George being accompanied by Fred it was rather odd to see his twin missing and Malfoy in his place.

Hermione pointed her wand at Draco and made the ropes disappear. She handed him two letters; one bearing the Hogwarts seal and the other clearly from the Ministry of Magic.

Draco felt the dread return in an instant. Was this his verdict? Would Aurors be arriving within the hour to transport him to Azkaban?

_Dear Mr Draco Malfoy,_

_Your memories have been analysed and the verdict has been decided._

_On the charge of using an Unforgivable Curse:_

**** _Killing Curse **Not Guilty**_

**** _Torture Curse **Guilty**_

_Imperius Curse **Guilty** _

_On the charge of conspiring with Death Eaters and Voldemort: **Guilty**_

_On the charge of participating in Death Eater Revels: **Guilty**_

_As you were underage when you used the Imperius Curse and you were heavily coerced into using the Cruciatus Curse and cooperating with Voldemort your penalty will be as follows:_

  * _You will wear an ankle bracelet to track your movements for a full year. A representative from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement will arrive at the Burrow at 5pm this evening to attach it._
  * _You will return to Hogwarts to complete your final year of schooling. You will be escorted to Hogsmeade by Arthur Weasley and remain in the Three Broomsticks until collected by Headmistress McGonagall._
  * _You will not be allowed to leave the grounds without the express permission of Headmistress McGonagall._
  * _You are required to undertake the Muggle Studies course at NEWTS level._
  * _You will meet with a Mind Healer based in Hogwarts each week. You may be required to take Veritaserum if you are less than forthcoming._
  * _At the end of the school year you will be reassessed to see if House Arrest or further sessions with the Mind Healer are required._



_Regards_

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister of Magic_

Draco reread the letter twice before the burden began to lift from his shoulders. He wasn’t going to be thrown into Azkaban!

Hermione gasped as Draco hurtled toward her in a flash. She squealed as he lifted her into his arms and spun her around in a circle.

“Put me down or I’ll throw up on your head!” she threatened.

“Go ahead, my love!” Draco laughed, “I’m not going to Azkaban so nothing could ruin this!”

He shoved the letter toward her with a huge grin. While she read it, he turned to the other person in the room.

“George! If you weren’t already drunk I’d invite you to indulge in some Firewhiskey with me!”

George blinked at him, “If I’m already drunk, there is no harm in Firewhiskey.”

“You two are ridiculous,” Hermione decided as she skimmed the letter. Her relief was more profound that she had expected; even though she had insisted Draco couldn’t be locked up a small part of her had worried that he would be sent to Azkaban.

George _accioed_ his secret stash of Firewhiskey from his old bedroom and laughed when Draco had to duck to avoid being hit in the head by the first bottle.

“To Draco Malfoy!” George toasted after Hermione grudgingly offered up three glasses, “The arsehole former Death Eater who has avoided a prison sentence!”

Draco pretended to wipe away a tear, “So sweet.”

“To George; as polite as ever!” Hermione offered.

“Screw being polite,” George huffed, “I think I’ll be a bastard from now on and blame it on Fred’s death.”

“You couldn’t do it,” Draco argued, “You don’t have it in you. I reckon you should use the sympathy to sleep around with as many witches as you can; or wizards if that’s your preference.”

“You are disgusting,” Hermione told him.

Draco shrugged, “Angelina was watching him like Weaslette eyeballs Potter.”

“I had a threesome with Fred and Angelina last year,” George mused.

Hermione stared at George while Draco started laughing.

“Nothing incestuous,” George clarified, “It just always seemed natural to share; I’ve never been with a girl without Fred there.”

Hermione was bright red and took refuge in her drink.

“Just when I think all Weasley’s are boring, you say something like that,” Draco mused while raising his drink, “To Fred and Threesomes.”

Draco and George clinked their glasses while Hermione glared at both of them.

“Draco, if you keep talking like that you will never even get a twosome,” she threatened.

“The little kitty has claws,” George mused, “I’m glad you split with Ron; you would have eaten him alive.”

“I have talons,” Draco offered.

“I also have a wand,” Hermione said bluntly, “And my status as a ‘War Heroine’ would help me get away with your murder without serving time.”

George chuckled, “You two are perfect for each other; the arguments will go on for hours until they deteriorate into make-up sex.”

“Don’t tell Potter or Weasley that,” Draco said thoughtfully, “They haven’t attacked me in the last week, but they keep looking at me funny while their fingers twitch. I just know they’re thinking of cursing me into the swamp.”

“They probably are,” George agreed, “They’ve hated you for so long it becomes habit. I always thought you were a spoiled little brat trying to hide the fact that your father beat the shit out of you. It was hard to hate you after seeing the way you cringed when he brandished that cane about at the World Cup.”

Hermione made a small noise like a wounded bird. She had suspected as much but to hear it so bluntly was disturbing. Even worse was the way Draco paled and leaned back into the lounge with a frown.

“No-one else cared,” Draco snorted, “Even bloody Dumbledore either didn’t notice or didn’t care. My mother just lived in denial, but I thought someone at school would have figured it out. Seriously; Sixth Year? I was crying in bathrooms and only freaking Potter noticed.”

“That was weird,” Hermione noted, “Harry figured out that you had taken the Mark; Ron and I were sceptical. You looked so tired and stressed all year; you didn’t even call me ‘Mudblood’.“

“Don’t say that word,” Draco said grumpily.

“Or he’ll spank you,” George teased.

“Drink your bloody Firewhiskey,” Hermione ordered the redhead, “Shouldn’t you two be threatening each other or something?”

“Wrong Weasley,” Draco reminded her, “That’s your ex-boyfriend’s job.”

“Do you want to hex me?” George asked the blonde.

“Too much effort,” Draco decided, “You know I actually felt guilty about getting you lot banned from Quidditch in Fifth Year?”

“Really?” George asked with a bemused smile.

“Mainly after Lucius sent a letter praising my efforts; then I knew I had really screwed up.”

“Dumbledore knew you were supposed to kill him,” Hermione said softly, “I always wondered why he didn’t sit you down in his office and offer protection from the Order.”

“Maybe because I would have panicked and tried to off him right there?” Draco snorted.

“He was bloody powerful,” George pointed out, “Why not just kidnap you and fake your death? Then, he could have ‘Saved your Soul’ or whatever bullshit excuse he was using to make Snape look bad.”

“And then raising Harry to walk to his death,” Hermione added, “I’m looking forward to getting into the Headmasters office and interrogating his portrait.”

“The Road to Hell is paved with good intentions,” George quoted.

“Great,” Draco responded, “He had the good intentions and I got to spend years in Hell with the crazy red-eyed Bastard.”

“You could have asked for asylum with the Order,” Hermione pointed out, “For your mother, too.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “I’m sure that would have gone down well; ‘Hey Dumbledore, can I switch to your side now that I’ve realized that my Father worships a Psycho? I still think you’re a crazy old fart but given the choice I’d prefer to run away and hide.’”

“You’d be surprised,” Hermione mused.

“He might have expected you to spy, like Snape,” George suggested.

“I would have died the first day on the job,” Draco said while topping up his drink, “I was too terrified to be useful. Dear Merlin; if he had been there when you three were brought to the Manor I would have identified you right away.”

Hermione was frowning at him, “Really? No hesitation at all?”

“At heart I’m a coward,” Draco admitted freely, “The Veela instincts demand I be brave to protect you but other than that I’m no hero. From birth I was taught to save my own skin and throw everyone else under a hippogriff.”

“What’s that Muggle quote?” George mused, “’The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing’.”

“And I did nothing,” Draco confirmed, “I don’t even know if I can claim to be a ‘good’ man.”

“You are,” Hermione argued, “You didn’t identify us at the Manor, and you stopped Crabbe from trying to kill us. You can tell yourself that you were acting in your own best interests in the Room of Requirement but the fact is; you didn’t want Harry or Ron dead either.”

“I’m not evil, just a coward,” Draco sighed, “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Be better in the future,” Hermione insisted, “When you have a choice to stand up for something important; do it.”

Draco sighed, “Bravery comes naturally to you Gryffindors.”

“No, it doesn’t!” Hermione insisted hotly, “I was terrified when that Troll was after me and I had to train myself to overcome the panic.”

“Bravery is not about a lack of fear, but the determination to act in spite of it,” George clarified, “So really, we’re all just extremely bull-headed.”

Draco nodded at his drink thoughtfully. The theory made sense, even when it came from the mouth of George while he was drowning his sorrows and checking out Hermione.

“I was trained to bow down and tremble in the face of fear,” Draco said miserably, “How do I overcome eighteen years of that?”

“I could obliviated you?” George offered, “You might forget how to wipe your own backside but maybe you’ll be brave about it?”

“If there was a way to keep my life knowledge intact while erasing everything else, I would seriously consider it,” Draco decided, “I don’t fancy being the oldest Wizard ever to enter Hogwarts.”

“That would be cowardly,” Hermione pointed out, “Choosing to turn over a new leaf now and face the scorn of others would take courage.”

“Bloody Gryffindors,” Draco muttered.

George raised his glass again, “To Bloody Gryffindors and Annoying Slytherins.”


	45. Molly takes Charge

Molly Weasley was not a woman to be trifled with. She had walked away from a promising internship at the Ministry of Magic to become a full-time mother without a qualm. Only when the twins hit puberty did she wonder if she had made the right decision; thankfully their antics settled down when they realized how unimpressed teenage girls were by their incessant pranking.

Lee Jordan cringed under the attention of the intimidating witch. As loyal as he was to his friend he knew he had to be honest.

“He drinks most nights,” Lee admitted, “Because of the nightmares. Sleeping potions helped at first but as soon as he started to become addicted to them, he stopped. He tried Molly; he really did.”

The sob in his voice ignited every maternal instinct she had. She pulled him into a warm hug and thanked him for the information.

“Lee?” the voice of Angelina Johnston beckoned from the front of the store.

Molly still hoped that George would realize the witch was besotted with him one day.

“In here, Angelina,” Lee called as he blinked away his emotions and took a few deep breaths.

“Why was Malfoy here?” Angelina demanded immediately, “Oh, hi Mrs Weasley.”

“Hello Dear,” Molly greeted easily, “Draco has been staying at the Burrow for the last week; he got into a fight with some Death Eaters and came to us to recover.”

“They’re fighting amongst themselves already?” Angelina scoffed, “That’s good news.”

Molly was fond of Angelina, but Draco had been pulling on her heartstrings since he had arrived.

“Draco never had a choice in taking the Mark,” Molly said firmly, “He sacrificed more than anyone realized. We have decided to give him a chance to prove he is a decent person.”

Angelina snorted, “Well I won’t hold my breath over that one. Katie nearly blew a gasket when she saw him. Will he be back?”

“No,” Molly assured her, “He will remain at the Burrow or with Arthur until the Ministry renders a verdict.”

“One more inmate for Azkaban,” Angelina said dismissively.

“I’m not sure about that,” Molly disagreed, “He refused to kill, was coerced when underage and turned on Voldemort as soon as his family was not being threatened. Many Death Eaters deserve our hatred, but Draco is not one of them.”

Angelina was frowning at the older witch, “I can’t forgive him for what he did to Katie.”

“I understand, dear,” Molly assured her, “But personally I hope he is not sent to Azkaban so he can rebuild his life away from the influence of his father.”

Angelina was frowning as Lee engaged her in conversation while Molly gathered up the family to return to the Burrow.

Ginny had peered outside just long enough to frown at the handful of reporters who had been banned from entering the shop.

“Bunch of vultures,” Ron was muttering angrily, “I want to grab their cameras and shove them up their -”

“Interesting thought, Ron,” Harry interrupted with a cautious glance at Molly.

“George can work from home this week,” Molly informed Arthur, “Lee has stacked the relevant books and will look after the shop.”

“I can stay if you need any help?” Ron offered.

Though Molly wanted to have Ron home to support his brother, she also wanted to encourage his interest in the shop. His plans to become an Auror worried her.

“I could use an extra pair of hands for a few hours,” Lee admitted with a questioning glance at Mrs Weasley.

“You’re welcome to stay Ron,” Molly offered, “I’m sure George will appreciate your input.”

Ginny rolled her eyes at her mother’s continuing efforts to dissuade from his Auror ambitions.

“I’ve got his trunk with half his clothes,” Ginny said brightly, “The House Elves will be delighted that they have something new to wash.”

Arthur watched Harry and Ginny disappear through the fireplace. He missed the little girl who had beamed up at him from beneath her pigtails and dreamed of going to Hogwarts. Where had the years gone?  
Only Arthur was permitted to see the moments of weakness Molly Weasley allowed herself. Late at night she would cry over the death of her son and the ruined childhoods of her natural and adopted children.

“We have done our best Mollywobbles,” Arthur mused as his wife stepped toward the fireplace, “Don’t be too disappointed if George doesn’t want our help.”

“I’m not sure we can help him at all,” Molly sighed, “We can’t even understand the bond he had with Fred.”

Arthur knew she was correct; no-one could help George except George.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry Potter had seen many strange things in his life, some awful and some wonderful.

Somehow the image of George Weasley and Draco Malfoy clinking glasses and chuckling at each other was an odd mixture of amusing and completely wrong.

“Oy Harry,” Ginny complained, “You’re in the way. Unless you want a trunk in your backside, step aside.”

Harry moved out of the way while George and Draco howled with laughter. He was pretty sure he heard the term ‘kinky’ from the redhead.

“Are you two drinking?” Ginny demanded, “Mum is going to be here in about ten seconds!”

“We three,” Draco corrected, “Hermione is drinking too.”

Hermione did not share their jovial theatrics. She retained her frown while explaining the agreement to drink with George to make him move back in.

Harry sat down across from the unlikely pair. He shared an exasperated glance with Hermione who only shook her head at him.

“It’s not even midday,” Harry pointed out, “Why don’t you eat something and save the Firewhiskey for tonight?”

“We’re celebrating!” Draco laughed.

“Celebrating what?” Harry asked.

George blinked, “I can’t remember.”

Hermione grabbed the piece of paper which had been left on the floor and held it out to Harry. He quickly read over the terms the Ministry had decided upon for Malfoy.

Ginny abandoned the trunk and surveyed the scene with her hands on her hips.

“Little Molly is back,” Draco hissed in a loud whisper.

“Since you two are determined to be idiots, I reserve the right to snog my fiancée without you two complaining,” Ginny declared.

Hermione giggled at the way Harry held out his arms invitingly to her. Ginny settled herself in his lap and had him pressed back into the lounge before Arthur and Molly reappeared.

“We leave for five minutes and they throw a party,” Arthur mused, “Alcohol and hormones are ruining today’s youth.”

Draco made his letter zoom back into his hand and waved it over his head dramatically.

“Mrs Weasley!” he cried happily, “I’m not going to Azkaban!”

Molly forgot the lecture she wanted to deliver to the irresponsible teenagers in the face of his delight. She took the letter and read it carefully before handing it to her husband.

“Is getting drunk at ten in the morning really the best way to celebrate?” Molly asked in a deceptively calm voice.

“I didn’t want Hermione to have to drink alone,” Draco replied with a smile. George sniggered into his drink.

Molly narrowed her eyes at the blonde, which caused him to wilt in the chair.

“Wixon, Moxie,” Molly said. The elves appeared in front of her immediately.

“Yes Mistress?” they chimed.

“Could you please prepare a full breakfast for the family? I can go out to buy supplies if extras are needed.”

Wixon tapped his chin with one finger, “I think we have everything we need.”

Moxie was glaring at the wizards who were still holding alcoholic beverages, “No alcohol will be served before noon,” she said pointedly.

George gaped at the small elf who continued to speak to Molly for a few seconds before heading into the kitchen.

“What happened to the submissive elves I’ve heard about?” he wondered aloud.

“Submissive, my pale arse,” Draco scoffed, “They were terrified of Lucius, respected Mother and assumed I was a moron.”

“Three for three,” Ron muttered.

“Is he referring to the elves or the whole wizarding world?” Harry asked in a loud whisper.

Hermione hid a smile at their comments. Draco rolled his eyes at the pair and continued to address George.

“How did these two twits manage to accomplish anything?” he asked George seriously.

“They had Hermione to hold their hands,” George explained with a grin.

Ron tried to protest but Harry cut him off, “That’s about it; we’re the brawn and she’s the brains.”

“If I was the brains I wouldn’t have agreed to get drunk with George; especially not on an empty stomach,” Hermione complained.

“We’ll fix that,” Draco offered, “Wixon loves cooking and serving a huge breakfast.”

“How do you know he enjoys it?” Ginny mimicked Hermione.

Draco snorted, “If I wasn’t out of bed by ten in the morning he would barge in, rip the blankets off me and demand I get down to the dining table to sample his latest masterpiece.”

Wixon appeared in front of Draco with a crack of apparition, “I’m glad young Master remembers! It is nearly ten, so get moving.”

Wixon clicked his fingers and all the alcohol disappeared.

“Hey!” George complained.

“Now!” Wixon commanded.

“I am not a child,” George grumbled as he hauled himself to his feet, “I am; wait a second, how old am I?”

“Mistress Molly wants the family to eat together,” Wixon announced in his shrill voice, “And Wixon will make sure Mistress gets what she wants!”

Hermione regarded Wixon worriedly as she trudged past him in the direction of the kitchen.

“If I’d met Wixon instead of Dobby I wouldn’t have thought of S.P.E.W,” she confided to Draco, “He’s like a Drill Sergeant.”

“What’s a Drill Sergeant?” Draco wondered.

“A soldier who screams at new soldiers and makes them obey all orders.”

Draco tried to imagine Bellatrix training other Death Eaters and failed. She liked to scream at them and throw the occasional curse but never actually teach them anything.

Molly stood in the kitchen with her hands on her hips, watching everyone wander in and take a seat. Wixon stood in front of her in a similar pose.

George assessed their positions, stood up straight and held his hand to his forehead in a salute.

“George Weasley; present and conscious,” he announced, “What are your orders, General?”

Molly did not lose her frown, “Sit down and eat something to soak up all that alcohol in your system.”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Molly really didn’t know how to help him; no-one else knew what he was going through and his refusal to speak to a Mind Healer limited her options.

“Our Hogwarts letters arrived, too,” Hermione revealed, “I opened mine and left the others in the living room.”

“Yay, Hogwarts,” Draco said sarcastically, “I bet ten galleons I’ll be dodging curses in the first week.”

“Two days,” Harry decided.

Ron frowned thoughtfully, “One day.”

George pulled a generous serving of bacon onto his place, “I reckon he’ll get attacked in the Great Hall before dinner.”

“Only Eighth-Years are going back early,” Hermione reminded them, “Does the time start then, or when the whole school is back?”

“Eighth-Years,” Harry decided.

“I’m not choosing a time,” Hermione said as she reached for the toast, “But I think it will be Seamus.”

“Why Seamus?” George wondered.

“He has a temper, which comes out when he protects those around him,” Hermione explained, “And his best mate Dean Thomas -”

“Was a prisoner in the bloody basement at the Manor,” Draco finished with a groan.

“No guesses on the time?” Ginny prompted.

Hermione paused, “I’d guess about three seconds after Draco says something stupid on purpose to piss Seamus off.”

“Let Seamus know that if I win the bet, I’ll split the winnings with him,” George said to Harry and Ron.

“George,” Molly said in a deceptively calm tone, “If you keep antagonising everyone and cannot control your drinking I will ask Professor McGonagall for special permission to send you back to Hogwarts to complete your education.”

George wilted at the suggestion and switched his focus to his meal.


	46. The Will of Severus Snape

Draco had never been a morning person, yet as a Veela he was unable to sleep more than a few hours each night. He pondered the visit from the Ministry of Magic official the previous evening; it had lasted less than a minute. The short wizard had confirmed his identity, strapped on the ankle band and then bid them farewell. Overall, it had been rather anticlimactic.

Draco waited patiently at the table, slowly eating his bowl of cereal. Wixon had offered to make bacon and eggs but Draco knew he wouldn’t be able stomach such a heavy meal.

“Your cooking should be savoured,” Draco explained to the elf, “I know I wouldn’t be able to do it justice today, Wixon.”

The elf regarded him with a tilted head, “Miss Granger is having a good influence on you, Master Draco.”

“In what way?”

“You think more before speaking,” Wixon replied knowingly, “Considering the feelings of others has become a habit rather than a distasteful chore.”

“Thank-you, Wixon,” Draco said softly, “Your opinions mean a lot to me.”

“I would like to ask a favour, if I may?” Wixon inquired nervously.

“Yes?”

“Could you ask Miss Granger to stop talking about freeing myself and Moxie?” he asked in exasperation.

Draco smiled, “I will explain the situation to her.”

“What situation?” Hermione asked from the doorway.

Wixon disappeared in a crack. Draco rolled his eyes.

“Apparently you have been asking Wixon and Moxie about elf freedom; theirs in particular?” Draco said lightly.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, “So?”

“Wixon asked me to let you know the topic is pointless.”

“Elf freedom is NOT pointless,” Hermione hissed.

“I agree; but speaking to Wixon and Moxie about it serves no purpose,” Draco replied easily, “They were freed years ago.”

Hermione deflated abruptly and sat down next to him, “Really? When?”

“When the Dark Bastard moved into our house, all the elves were freed. They chose to stay but if in danger they were able to simply disappear. Otherwise, Wixon and Moxie would not have been able to simply move in here.”

“Maybe they can help with S.P.E.W.?” Hermione wondered thoughtfully, “As an example of how elves can be free but still choose to remain with their family.”

As Hermione made plans Draco simply watched her. The crease between her eyes was rather adorable.

“Are you even listening to me?” Hermione finally asked in a huff.

“Nope,” Draco admitted freely, “I just like watching you.”

“Eat your cereal.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione was sipping her morning coffee while George picked at his bacon next to her. Molly was clearly delighted to have him back in the house.

For Draco, the arrival of the morning owl delivering the Daily Prophet was a welcome distraction from Weasley’s table manners. The rest of the family seemed to have mastered eating with their mouth closed so he knew it wasn’t a widespread problem in the gene pool.

The owl gulped down the treat he offered and turned away. He had avoided the Prophet in the immediate aftermath of the war; most of it was truthful but still evoked painful memories. The article which had proclaimed the youngest Weasley twin as charming and stunningly handsome had made him laugh.

Draco sat down, opened the paper and felt his breakfast threaten to make a reappearance.

‘ _Narcissa and Draco Malfoy escape Azkaban Sentences!_ ’

“Shit,” Draco muttered, which earned him a sharp glare from Molly.

The article didn’t spew too much rubbish, though the facts were bad enough. The attack at the Manor was barely mentioned and Lucius was apparently a vicious criminal planning multiple attacks while on the run.

Draco was more interested in the paragraph about the Malfoy Heir; he was apparently a manipulative womaniser sniffing around for a pureblood bride who could be bribed. At least no-one had picked up on his relationship with Hermione.

“This would be a great place to deposit owl droppings,” Draco mused as he handed the paper to Hermione.

“We can stop in Diagon Alley to buy some new robes,” Arthur said to Draco, “Until then, Molly put a pile of clothes in your room.”

Draco held back a scathing comment about having to wear Weasley hand-me-downs and nodded instead.

Hermione felt her anger growing to unmanageable levels as she read the article in the Prophet. She was always more volatile when defending others and Draco was no exception.

Draco was still buttoning up the black shirt when he raced down the stairs to find out why his mate was so furious.

“Keep your clothes on, Malfoy,” Potter groaned, “We’re eating.”

Draco ignored him, as he often did. His eyes were trained on the brunette who was glaring at her cup of tea. She didn’t even look up at him.

“I can feel your anger burning,” Draco said to her.

Hermione wasn’t seeing the concerned faces around the table; she was imagining stringing Rita Skeeter up by her ankles, ripping her hair out and making her scream for mercy.

“I hate liars,” Hermione admitted through gritted teeth, “I want to hex everyone at the Daily Prophet to tell the truth or lose the ability to write.”

“Want me to buy it?” Draco offered glibly.

“Only if I get to burn it down.”

“And you thought she was angry?” George joked.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco regretted the distinctive blonde hair which allowed strangers to identify him from a distance. Travelling with Potter didn’t assist in his desire to keep a low profile.

“Mr Weasley!” a random wizard greeted enthusiastically.

“Mr Smyth,” Arthur greeted, “This is Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and -”

“Mr Potter! Or course! Lovely to meet you in person!”

Smyth gazed at Potter like he was Merlin reincarnated. Draco rolled his eyes at his mate while the annoying man gushed over the raven-haired wizard.

“Miss Granger! It is indeed an honour!”

Hermione shook his hand politely, “And this is our friend; Draco Malfoy.”

Smyth froze in place and his eyes travelled up to take in the pale blonde hair and cold grey eyes. Potter smirked from behind the suddenly shy wizard; even Arthur appeared amused.

“Of course,” Smyth shook Draco’s hand briefly before making up a weak excuse to leave.

“I should travel with you more often Malfoy,” Potter decided, “Usually the fans trail after me for at least fifteen minutes before I can escape.”

“Like blowflies to a dung heap,” Draco mused.

“Hermione and Ron have the same problem.”

“Clearly Hermione has admirers I will have to frighten away; I’m sure Weasley enjoys his blowflies,” Draco replied.

“Nice save,” Hermione muttered.

The next two encounters were similar to the first; the adoration screeched to a halt when the groupie realized who the heroes were travelling with.

The fourth person to stop them for a chat glared at Draco while shaking hands with Arthur.

“Good morning Arthur, Mr Potter, Miss Granger,” his eyes were accusing, “Escorting a prisoner?”

“Not at all, Amos,” Arthur replied easily while Draco felt the burn of fury in his chest, “We are required to hear a Will read.”

“It’s such a shame to see criminals walking around free,” Amos continued while regarding the former Death Eater, “You’re damn lucky you weren’t thrown straight in Azkaban, boy.”

“Actually, I consider myself rather unlucky,” Draco contradicted coldly, “Not many people had Voldemort move into their house.”

Amos gulped at the name. Arthur interrupted before the conversation escalated.

“We really do have to move along; it was lovely to see you again Amos.”

The left behind the rude wizard, who muttered something unsavoury before they were out of earshot.

“You must excuse Amos,” Arthur sighed, “He hasn’t been the same since Cedric died.”

Draco only knew one Cedric who had passed away, “Diggory?”

“Yes; Amos was devastated.”

“It’s not fair to blame you,” Hermione admitted to Draco, “As you were barely fifteen at the time. Sadly, grief can be irrational.”

Draco felt her hand brush along his for a brief moment; they had agreed to refrain from acting like a couple in an attempt to keep their relationship a secret from the press for the time being.

A tall witch with an inscrutable expression sat behind a large desk when they were escorted in for the reading. Once she had confirmed their identities she read through the formalities of leaving possessions to non-blood related recipients.

“Mr Potter, Severus Snape left this photo album to you,” she handed the dark blue item to him, “Along with a letter.”

Potter ripped open the letter and scanned the content with a growing scowl.

“Git,” he muttered. He handed the letter to Hermione and Draco read it over her shoulder.

_To Harry Potter,_

_Just in case you haven’t already figured it out; I am dead and you are not. Hopefully you have already triumphed over He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named but if you haven’t, get on with it._

_I leave to you the photo album which contains the photos of your mother in her youth. If I had spare copies of my Potions books from school with my annotations I would leave you that too, as you clearly need help in the subject._

  * _Severus Snape_



Draco laughed openly at the letter; he could almost hear his Godfather speaking the words in his sarcastic tone.

“Miss Granger, this book was left for you, along with a letter.”

Hermione glanced at the book and her eyes widened in shock. She tucked it into her jacket before Draco could see the title.

_To Hermione Granger,_

_Albus Dumbledore left this with me along with explicit instructions to leave it to you in my will. I have no idea why a book on the mating habits of Nargles would interest you but I have learned that the Headmaster always has a plan even when he seems batty._

_The Dim-witted Duo you call friends wouldn’t be able to find their way out of the bathroom without your guidance; I wish you luck in babysitting them in the upcoming conflict. If they have survived the final battle already, you deserve a medal._

  * _Severus Snape_



Hermione smiled at the letter before letting Draco read it. He grinned at the contents and handed it to Potter.

“Dim-witted Duo?” Potter repeated, clearly appalled, “If he wasn’t already dead I’d kill him.”

Arthur already held the letter Potter had received. He took the second one from the annoyed wizard with a smile.

“Draco, this is the letter left to you,” the witch continued, “There are other documents to be turned over once you have read it.”

_To Draco Malfoy,_

_You are the son I never had and so I leave you all my possessions not already bequeathed to others, my home at Spinner’s End and the approval your father was too emotionally repressed to voice. You have done well to survive Draco, and I am proud of the burdens you have managed to carry._

_If you haven’t already, I hope you are able to forget all the Pureblood rubbish Lucius used to brainwash you. You have brought more honour to the Malfoy name than he ever could._

_Don’t let your past destroy your future._

  * _Severus Snape_



Had he been alone, Draco might have allowed the tears welling up in his eyes to spill down his cheeks. Instead he blinked them away, reached for his composure and turned his attention to the witch whose name he couldn’t recall.

“The property is now in your name and your signature here will alter all the wards to recognise you. The contents of the vault can be moved to your personal vault or left as is for you to sort through.”

While Draco dealt with the paperwork Arthur led Harry and Hermione out of the office. Hermione shifted the book tucked under her arm so she could check the title again.

“ _The Curse of the Male Veela_ ”

“What did you get Hermione?” Harry asked curiously.

Hermione was sure the book would appear different to her friend, so she showed him the front cover.

“The Mating Habits of Nargles?” he laughed, “Why would he leave you that?”

“Dumbledore told him to; maybe it was a joke.”

“He always had a strange sense of humour,” Arthur recalled with a smile.

Draco emerged from the office looking thoughtful.

“Any problems?” Hermione wondered.

“I have to go to Spinner’s End for the transfer to be completed,” Draco said thoughtfully, “Who knows what is hiding there.”

Harry mentioned the state Grimmauld Place had been left in when Sirius moved back in.

“Don’t worry Potter,” Draco teased, “Any annotated Potions Books go straight to you.”


	47. The Curse of the Male Veela

Hermione waited until Ginny dragged Draco into a game of Quidditch after lunch to ponder the book she had been left. As Arthur had been convinced to play, the blonde was needed to even up the teams.

Molly was elected to be the cheer squad and even Wixon and Moxie were tagging along to make sure everyone was happy.

Hermione locked herself in the bedroom with the book. She wanted to show it to Draco, but she had to check the contents first.

_Beyond this page this book has been enchanted so only a male Veela or his mate can read it. It will copy itself and appear in the bookshelf of any household where a resident carries the dormant gene._

_I collected most of the following information from the journal of Marcus Black. Due to the way events turned out all records of Marcus were eradicated, and I doubt anyone knows of the male Veela who emerged in 1452. He hoped to spare future male Veela the suffering he was forced to endure._

  * _Orianna Malfoy_



Hermione found it interesting that the Black and Malfoy bloodlines had been combined and a male Veela had emerged. She didn’t believe in coincidences.

_ Stage One _ _: Summary of the dairy of Marcus Black, October to December_

_The transformation took nearly five hours. I am fitter and my senses are sharper. I could feel my mate from the moment the pain finally faded. She was here at Hogwarts. I didn’t fight the pull at all. It led me to the library where Abraxas Malfoy was sitting with the woman he had married last week; Orianna Bulstrode._

_I knew right away that I was destined to die before my nineteenth birthday. The wedding ring Orianna wore prevented cheating and could never be removed while she and her husband were alive._

_The Veela within me wants to claim her, yet I cannot. She is bound to her husband and can never be mine. What did I do to deserve this?_

_Even knowing I will die because I cannot have her, I don’t want to upset her. If she is happy with her husband, then she does not need my presence in her life._

_Over the next few months, we became friends, though Abraxas regarded me with suspicion. We had known each other for over six years but I had never warmed to the Malfoy heir. Even for a very rich pureblood, he was an arrogant bastard. I had never appreciated the way he treated other people as servants and women as possessions. He had seduced nearly every female half-blood in the house above the age of fourteen and maybe a couple of purebloods._

_He treated me as an equal only because of my surname. The traditional quest for wealth and power had lost all significance when my heritage emerged. I only wanted Orianna and if I couldn’t have her as my mate, I would be thankful for her friendship._

_Platonic touches and her scent sustained me for the first three months. I suffered badly when she left for the Christmas break, to the point of being sedated until she returned._

_During this stage I was able to sleep six hours a night at most._

Hermione was sure Draco was not sleeping six hours a night; four or five would be more accurate. She pitied both Marcus and Orianna for the positions they had been trapped in.

_ Stage Two _ _: Summary of the dairy of Marcus Black, January to April_

_I can’t sleep more than four hours a night. I am in pain constantly as I have been forbidden to approach Orianna by her husband. My magic is weakening, and my temper is very short._

_Abraxis relented in February as he is sure Orianna is pregnant with his child. I explained the situation to her and pleaded with her not to feel guilt when I die._

_She offers to stay with me until the end. When Abraxas found us together holding hands he slapped Orianna so hard that the mark remained on her face for hours. I attacked him and almost strangled him to death._

_I am beginning to lose grip on reality. I wish I had killed Abraxas._

For the first time Hermione realized how convenient her break-up with Ron had been; at least she didn’t have to worry about Draco killing him.

_ Stage Three _ _: Summary of the dairy of Marcus Black, May to July_

_Orianna’s pregnancy is beginning to show. I am allowed to spend time with her as long as we are supervised constantly. The teachers have been informed of my condition and the rumours spread through the student body quickly. None of them know what I am, and the ridiculous stories being created are almost amusing._

_I am losing the ability to speak, and I do not sleep more than two hours a night. I can feel the madness approaching._

_Orianna is always upset; I fear for the health of her baby. Before the graduation ceremony Abraxas declared that I will never see his wife again after today._

_I have arranged a portkey. The baby is due in late July. Once Abraxas has his heir, I will have Orianna._

Six months. The year which had been set as a rough timeline had clearly been far too optimistic. Hermione already suspected that their physical relationship would progress quickly enough to have the bond completed by Christmas; she had thoroughly enjoyed their snogging sessions.

_ Stage Four _ _: The final stage by Orianna Malfoy_

_Marcus kidnapped me the first time I left the Manor after Lanarsi was born. He is not the man I knew at Hogwarts; the Veela instincts have corrupted him._

_He barely speaks and when he does the effort is severely taxing. He doesn’t sleep anymore; he can only manage a few minutes when he rests his head in my lap._

_The madness in his eyes scares me. His touch was once gentle and soothing; now his grip is too tight, and he is always watching me with lust._

_I don’t know where we are. He took my wand and used magic to secure the premises._

_He comes into the room each night to molest me. The pity in my heart is turning to hatred. I want to go home to my son._

_All of his writing is now a jumbled mess. He rambles on for pages about killing Abraxas. I do not care which ones dies; I just want it to end._

_Marcus disappeared for three days. When he returned he was furious and splattered with blood. He had tried to kill my husband and failed._

_He raped me that night. I cried myself to sleep while he rocked in the corner._

_Abraxas found me the next day. Marcus had sent him the location and then killed himself._

_It was finally over._

Hermione stared at the entry in horror. She had taken comfort in the idea that a Veela could not hurt their mate, which was clearly incorrect.

She doubted Draco would ever hurt her intentionally, but his change had been too fast. What if the madness descended on him before they had bonded? Was he really capable of rape? She truly believed he would never do such a thing, and if the Veela instincts took over he would never forgive himself.

_ Conclusion _ _:_

_I believe that Marcus could have held onto his mind if we had been allowed to remain together. The bond could not be completed as I was bound to Abraxas, but he would not have deteriorated so quickly._

_To the male Veela reading this; if your mate is already claimed as I was, kill the husband or yourself early on to avoid suffering._

_If she is not claimed woo her to the best of your ability. If your instincts are satisfied you can hold on for about nine months. The last three will drive you insane._

_To the mate reading this; he cannot see this final paragraph. In the first three stages your Veela will try to sacrifice everything for you. The moment you become uncomfortable with the physical aspect of the relationship he will back off. He will not push you beyond the boundaries he THINKS you are ready for. Do not let him make the decisions. If you want more do not hesitate. His life is in your hands._

_The final stage will drive him insane; either complete the bond or kill him yourself. Do not let him suffer._

Hermione let her eyes linger on the final sentence. Draco and Narcissa had arrived last Wednesday and he had been unconscious until the following day. The relationship they had developed was moving quickly already.

The thudding of feet pounding on the stairs reminded Hermione of the emotional link she had to her mate. She pointed her wand at the locked door, so it swung open before Draco reached it.

Draco had felt her distress, abandoned the Quidditch game while Weaslette screamed at him and bolted into the house to find her. He skidded to a halt outside the room she shared with the younger witch.

“I’m fine,” Hermione said immediately.

Draco didn’t believe her for a second; he could feel her emotions and see the book she was clutching in her hands. He tried to enter the room, only to be stopped by the new wards.

Hermione watched Draco mutter to himself and prod the doorway with his wand. She closed the book, swung her legs to the floor and faced reality.

Draco knew he could break the ward with a little more time, though he was sure Molly would be alerted if he tried to tamper with it. Clearly she had extensive experience keeping teenagers out of trouble.

Hermione handed him the book, kissed his cheek and headed downstairs. He stared at the title with growing dread.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione found Ginny in the living room still holding her broom.

“Malfoy ditched me,” the redhead said irritably, “He nearly had the snitch too! Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Hermione assured her, “He might need some time alone.”

“Dad is sick of it already,” Ginny mused as she allowed her friend to steer her back outside, “I guess we can play in pairs. He seemed pretty freaked out; are you sure everything is alright?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied simply.

Ginny watched the brunette walk away through suspicious eyes. She considered heading upstairs to check on Draco but the last thing she wanted to encounter was a pissed off Veela.

The Quidditch game had been abandoned. Hermione encouraged the remaining players to get back into the air in a stern tone which made Molly proud.

“I’m not as young as I used to be,” Arthur said to his wife with a smile.

“But you are just as handsome,” Molly quipped.

“I remember being talented at Quidditch,” Arthur mused, “Was I deluding myself?”

“You had talent,” Molly confirmed, “And so did I. Our children are better than both of us combined. What more could we ask for as parents?”

“Grandchildren.”

“Well of course. I have been making a list of ladies to introduce Charlie to,” Molly said thoughtfully as Ginny swept past on the broom.

“Did he ask for your assistance?” Arthur asked with a smile. Clearly he already knew the answer.

“Charlie spends all his time around dragons. I swear one day he will put a bow on one’s head and bring it home for tea.”

Hermione giggled at the image and tried to ignore the snide part of her mind which wondered if the dragon could have worse table manners than Ron.

The deep ache of self-loathing in her stomach extinguished the mirth. Draco had discovered what Marcus Black did to Orianna Malfoy.

Harry watched the Veela storm out of the house wearing a thunderous expression. He had seen Draco angry multiple times and had never really been intimidated. For the first time a shiver of fear stole into his chest.

Ron noticed Harry’s lack of movement and followed his gaze to the annoying Veela. He was slowly accepting that Malfoy wasn’t evil, but he was convinced that the git was a drama queen.

Draco stomped past the Quidditch pitch and kept going until he reached the nearest patch of trees. Within minutes a flock of birds deserted the treetops and a deep, haunting wail echoed across the property.


	48. Ferret Hunting

Draco was absent at lunch. Molly pursed her lips and glared in the direction of the trees he had disappeared into, but she refrained from saying anything.

“What happened?” Ginny asked bluntly.

Hermione wasn’t sure how sensitive Draco would be to sharing information. She did know how persistent her friends could be though.

“The book I got from Snape isn’t about Nargles; to me and Draco it is a book about a male Veela who emerged in 1452.”

Harry paused to regard her worriedly, “Why is Malfoy so upset?”

“I’d prefer to speak to him about that first,” Hermione said quietly.

Ron was wearing the silly grin which usually preceded an ill-timed joke, “Maybe he has discovered that Hermione is not his mate; it’s actually McLaggen.”

Ginny grimaced at him, “Gross, Ron; we’re trying to eat here.”

Arthur and Molly chose to ignore the immature bickering around the table. They shared an exasperated glance before excusing themselves.

“We are going to see Dromeda and Narcissa for a few hours,” Molly informed the teenagers, “George; are you responsible enough to ensure no-one sneaks off to do something inappropriate?”

“Not at all,” George replied happily.

“That’s why Wixon and Moxie will be watching,” Molly sighed, “No alcohol, either.”

“Mother dear; you are sucking all the joy out of life,” George sighed.

“You’ll thank me when you remain sober,” Molly said sternly.

Arthur turned to his only daughter, “Keep in mind what we discussed, Gin.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and encouraged them to leave. George waited until his parents had vacated the premises to turn to his sister with a grin.

“So, what was discussed? We want all the gruesome, humiliating details.”

Ginny regarded her brother for a few long moments. Only Hermione realized that George had provoked his sister a little too much.

“Well,” Ginny began innocently, “Angelina told me that Fred was behind her while you -”

“Enough!” George cried, “Dear Merlin; why do girls talk about stuff like that?”

“As if boys don’t,” Hermione laughed.

“There was no need,” Ginny, agreed, “Since he and Fred were both present for -”

Harry and Ron were looking around nervously, “I don’t think I want to know what you lot are talking about,” Harry decided.

“What about you Ron?” Ginny asked, “Do you want to hear about parental comments on my sex life or the threesome Angelina had with Fred and George?”

Ron shook his head; apparently forming words was not possible while he was so horrified.

“When did you become so evil?” George demanded of his sister.

Ginny just smirked at him silently. Harry was watching his fiancée with a dreamy expression; he loved watching her verbally beat up her brothers. Even when she was using her sharp tongue on him, she was hot. On Sunday she had proved that her tongue could be used for other purposes, too.

“Harry!” George yelled, “What are you daydreaming about? I asked ‘how you could put up with my shrew of a sister?’.”

“She’s amazing and she puts up with all of my weirdness; what’s not to love?” Harry wondered.

Ginny beamed at him before turning to George, “See? Harry is a gentleman who loves me for me; even the moody, demanding parts. You can’t look at me without seeing a silly little girl.”

“You’ll always be my silly, little sister,” George cooed.

“Get stuffed George,” Ginny instructed, “Ask out Angelina before she realizes you are a complete dork incapable of recognising a fine witch right under his nose.”

Harry was frowning, which Hermione found interesting. He had been gazing adoringly at Ginny only a few seconds earlier.

“What’s up, Harry?” she asked as the siblings continued bickering.

Ron had taken the clever way out; he was still eating.

Harry had realized something very disturbing as he watched Ginny bait her brother over the dining table. He had gotten used to Malfoy adding snarky comments to rile people up and he missed the aggravating wizard’s wit.

“It feels weird without Malfoy here backing up Ginny and trying to piss off Ron,” Harry admitted.

Ron gaped at his friend in disbelief. George leaned over to check Harry’s forehead temperature with the back of his hand while Ginny giggled.

“You’re not missing that git, are you?” Ron asked worriedly.

Harry was clearly confused, “I’m not sure.”

“He was quite tolerable yesterday,” George mused.

“You were drunk,” Ron pointed out, “I could probably tolerate Umbridge if I was pissed.”

“He’s funny when he wants to be,” Ginny said with a shrug.

“Don’t start listing tolerable traits,” Ron said while waving a napkin at her, “He’s an obnoxious git and always will be.”

“I miss him,” Hermione admitted softly.

Ginny was still smiling, “Well, he has been working overtime to charm you this past week.”

“Girl talk!” Ron cooed, “Excuse me while I go out to the swamp and drown myself.”

“You’re excused,” George said dismissively, “Now Hermione, tell me; is Malfoy a good kisser?”

Hermione laughed at the way he was fluttering his eyelashes at her.

“Or is it like wrestling a wet snake back into his mouth? Snakes don’t brush their teeth; does he have terrible breath?” George waited expectantly.

“As if I’d tell you anything,” Hermione laughed, “I might go ask Angelina for some intimate details about you though.”

George glared at her, “She couldn’t tell us apart at the time. Anything bad was not my fault.”

Ron pushed his plate away, “You lot are making me want to hurl. I would prefer to listen to Malfoy babble rubbish.”

“I think he’s grown on us,” Ginny admitted thoughtfully, “Like moss on a rock.”

“Or an annoying callous,” Harry agreed, “You wish it wasn’t there but after a while you don’t notice it anymore.”

“Are you comparing my boyfriend to something growing on your foot?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“More like a fungus,” George clarified, “As long as it is quiet and doesn’t make anyone itch in their -”

Ginny burst into laughter, “He makes Hermione itch. How long until he gets to scratch it I wonder?”

Ron pushed his chair back and stomped from the room while muttering about disgusting conversations and never wanting to eat again.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco was enjoying the peace of the scruffy little forest. The novelty of a big family was rapidly fading into annoyance at the lack of privacy.

A dwelling as extensive as the Manor would be large enough to install twenty annoying Weasley’s and leave room to build an indoor pool next to the Quidditch pitch. After Hermione had been tortured there, he had resolved never to live there if he could help it.

Draco wondered if Hermione would prefer a different property or if demolishing the Manor and rebuilding would be an option; the Quidditch pitch was quite convenient.

He heard Potter and Weasley arguing from a considerable distance. He glanced around for an escape route before casting a disillusionment charm on himself. If they were determined to annoy him, they would have to find him first.

“Malfoy!” Potter called in an irritated tone, “Get over here; we need to talk to you.”

The noises of the forest were the only reply. Draco smirked at how easy it was to annoy the Dopey Duo.

“Hermione owes us for this,” Weasley muttered, “She needs to get a leash for her ferret boyfriend.”

“You can’t call him that after Friday,” Potter said absently as he scanned the forest for the missing wizard.

“Well I can today and tomorrow,” Weasley replied, “After that I will only think it.”

Draco rolled his eyes and repressed the urge to let the sharp retort about Weasley finally learning to think fly through the air toward the redhead.

“Bloody coward; he’s hiding,” Potter decided.

Weasley scowled and raised his wand, “ _Expecto Patronum!_ You are an annoying ferret.”

A pale blue shape burst from the tip of his wand and raced toward Draco. He watched the small dog pause in front of him and announce the message.

“Stop being a git Malfoy,” Potter said as he stomped over to stand behind the fading Patronus.

“Can you teach me that spell?” Draco asked.

“Take the charm off, first,” Weasley said with a frown.

Draco reversed the disillusionment charm but made no move to stand up.

“Why are you two here?”

“Ginny volunteered us,” Weasley muttered, “She has some crazy idea about us becoming ‘friends’.”

All three of them scoffed at that ridiculous idea.

“Hermione, Ginny and George went to visit Dromeda and Teddy,” Potter informed him, “If you sulk out here for too long your mother might send you a Howler or something.”

“I’m not sulking,” Draco complained, “I’m brooding.”

“Same shit, different smell,” Weasley decided.

“Sulking is for children,” Draco argued, “Brooding is for mature adults who manage to retain their dignity and good looks while dealing with their issues.”

“Still full of rubbish,” Potter observed as he sat down next to a nearby tree, “It’s good to see that some things never change.”

“What are you brooding about?” Weasley asked though he wasn’t particularly interested.

“None of your business.”

“Hermione isn’t happy; don’t you have a Veela need to keep her happy or something?” Potter asked.

“Her safety is the top priority,” Draco said flatly.

“Are you a danger to her?” Weasley asked in an ominous tone, “Is that what the book said?”

“She told you about the book,” Draco muttered, “Of course she bloody did.”

“We’re her friends,” Weasley pointed out.

Potter broke a twig in his hands and threw the pieces at Malfoy, “Maybe yours too, you annoying prat.”

“Friends?” Malfoy laughed.

“Not me,” Weasley added, “I think you’re like moss.”

“Weasley, that doesn’t make any sense,” Draco said as he threw one of the twig pieces back at Potter.

Ron watched his best friend study the irritating blonde through a haze of boredom. If Malfoy wanted to sulk in the forest he was happy to let him. Hermione would drag him out by his ear eventually if she wanted his company.

Unfortunately, Harry was not easily swayed from the lingering hero complex he had been accused of in the past. Even though Malfoy was clearly a lost cause who needed to be obliviated so his personality could be started again from scratch, Harry seemed to think he could do something to help.

“You don’t make sense Malfoy,” Harry replied with a frown, “Why are you out here having a sook when you could be discussing the problem with Hermione?”

“There is nothing to discuss,” Draco said sharply.

“Good enough for me,” Ron said brightly, “Come on Harry; let’s leave him to sulk in peace.”

“I don’t know why you came looking for me in the first place,” Draco said dismissively.

“You’re an arsehole Malfoy but you’re not evil,” Harry said crossly, “If you’re going to be hanging around Hermione we should try to be friends or something.”

“Unless you’re a danger to her,” Weasley added, “You didn’t deny that by the way.”

Draco met the suspicious eyes of the redhead, “Her life would be so much easier if she wanted to marry you and have a herd of children.”

“Probably, but she’d get bored,” Weasley said with a shrug, “I want a whole heap of kids and she wants a maximum of three when she’s in a good mood. She wants to change the world; I just want a modest house where I can relax and enjoy myself.”

“She’d be safe with you,” Draco muttered, not realizing he was speaking aloud.

“But not with you,” Potter said darkly, “I’d like you to explain that line of reasoning very quickly, Malfoy.”

Draco found their glared oddly amusing. They had fought their share of Dark Wizards and then some, but he had lived with the Dark Bastard and regularly faced him in his nightmares. Their attempts to intimidate were unsuccessful.

His regard for Hermione added an unexpected dimension to his reasoning. He wasn’t ready to face her after reading that book and she needed the meddlesome gits to support her.

“What exactly did she tell you about that book?”


	49. Lack of Subtlety

Harry had known Malfoy for years. He had seen the spoiled, bigoted brat and the arrogant teenager. He had even seen an adoring man trying to sacrifice his own life for the woman he couldn’t take his eyes off.

That final one still made him rather nauseous.

Harry had not expected to witness yet another facet of Draco Malfoy. The blonde cast his calculating eyes over the pair of wizards who were clearly failing to intimidate. For the first time Harry began to see something distinctly inhuman in the face of the former Death Eater and he couldn’t even articulate what he was seeing.

“What would you do to keep her safe?” Malfoy asked coldly.

“Whatever is needed,” Ron replied without hesitation.

“Even if she ended up hating you for it?”

Harry didn’t like the direction the conversation was heading in, “With the right reason, yes. She didn’t ask us to come talk to you; we just knew she’d be unhappy while you were out here feeling sorry for yourself. She’s probably going to yell at us.”

Draco stared at a nearby tree and flexed his hands. Harry watched the claws slide out of his fingertips.

“The diary was a summary of the life of a male Veela who emerged in 1452,” Draco growled, “He found his mate and she was already married, to a Malfoy ironically enough. He slowly went insane from having to deny his urges.”

Harry shared a quick glance with Ron. The redhead was prone to overreacting when Hermione was involved, and Harry didn’t want to have to try to restrain him if they heard something shocking.

“He kidnapped his mate and tried to kill her husband,” Draco revealed with an inhuman growl, “When he failed he raped her and then killed himself. I have nine months at most before I need to be put down.”

Ron gulped and kept his mouth closed. The immature part of him wanted to claim victory and announce to the world that he had been right all along about Malfoy. After about a second, he realized he was no longer eleven. Though galling to admit, he was sure Malfoy would cut his own head off before trying to rape Hermione. Clearly the blonde wasn’t as sure about his future.

Harry did not want to say what he was thinking. He pushed aside his pride and swore if either of the two wizards repeated what he was about to say he would obliviated them without hesitation.

“Malfoy, I’ll be shocked if you haven’t claimed and marked Hermione by her birthday in September,” Harry admitted with a frown, “You seem to think she is a fragile flower who will run away if she realizes you want to get her naked. Did you forget that she stood up to Voldemort, Death Eaters and everyone who has ever annoyed her?”

The claws slowly receded.

“I don’t want to talk about Hermione getting naked with anyone,” Ron moaned, “I can’t wash my brain.”

“I agree with you Ron but clearly this git is pretty thick-headed,” Harry said with a pointed glare at the blonde, “Seriously, if she hasn’t dragged you into the bedroom before Christmas, I’ll eat the Sorting Hat.”

Laughter bubbled up within Ron before he could try to counteract it. Harry just rolled his eyes while Malfoy raised an eyebrow.

“I just had this image of you sitting in the Great Hall trying to stuff the Sorting Hat into your gob while it babbles for mercy,” Ron gasped.

The laughter was infectious. Draco watched the two friends roll onto their sides while gasping for air. They were utterly ridiculous.

Draco envied them, though he would _Avada_ himself before every admitting it to them. The friendship they shared seemed so strong and effortless. The closest he had come to a true friendship was probably Pansy; Theo was such a private person that it was hard to decide how close they really were.

“It’s pretty bloody old,” Potter laughed, “It would need some salt.”

The pair were struggling to recover from laughing hard enough to cause tears to stream down their cheeks. Draco knew he could never let out his emotions so easily after years of training to hide them.

“I tell you of my fear that I will lose control and rape your best friend, and you two end up laughing about a hat,” Draco sneered, “How could anyone this incompetent defeat anyone?”

Potter was frowning again, “Lighten up Malfoy. The war stuffed up out childhoods, but I’ll be damned if I forget how to laugh.”

“You are too uptight,” Weasley agreed, “I’m betting that Hermione will get you into bed before Halloween. The thought alone makes me cringe so can we just move along?”

Only the instincts of the Veela allowed Draco to push aside the years of training to never ask for help.

“Weasley; if I lose my mind and try to hurt Hermione I want you to promise that you’ll kill me.”

Potter gaped at the blonde while the redhead simply stared.

“You’re serious?” Weasley realized.

The idiocy of the two of them was indescribable. Draco’s hand twitched around his wand.

“Dead serious,” he growled.

“You won’t get that far,” Potter decided.

“But if I do, I want your word that you will not let me hurt her,” Draco said, still staring at Weasley.

“Fine, I promise,” Weasley agreed, “You’re such a drama queen, Malfoy.”

“Why not me?” Potter wondered.

“You got to kill Voldemort,” Weasley protested, “It’s my turn.”

Potter pouted, “If you get to kill Malfoy, I want front row tickets.”

Draco rolled his eyes at their moronic tendencies. Had the Dark Bastard still been alive, he would die from the shame of having been defeated by such dunderheads.

“Why me?” Weasley wondered.

The cold grey eyes surveyed the pair of them, “Potter would hesitate. You won’t.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione could sense that Draco needed some time to process what he had learned, so he could realize for himself how different the situation was. She knew that seeking him out herself would cloud the issue and heighten his emotional distress. Once he regained his composure and stopped doubting himself she planned to approach him. She had let Ginny talk her into visiting Dromeda and Narcissa, though the redhead clearly had ulterior motives.

Teddy grabbed a handful of red hair and gurgled happily. Ginny gently tugged her hair out of his small fist and shifted him in her arms.

“You’ve got that look in your eyes, Ginny,” Dromeda noted.

They were sitting around the living room of the Tonks house sipping tea.

“What look?”

“The baby look,” Narcissa explained, “You’re getting clucky.”

“Watch out, Teddy,” Hermione whispered loudly, “She wants to kidnap you and take you home.”

George studied his sister with a frown, “He couldn’t be any more annoying than Ron.”

“You can have the next nappy duty, then,” Dromeda laughed, “Dear Merlin he can cause a mess.”

Ginny grinned as the baby changed his hair to match hers.

“Now, he could pass as a Weasley,” Hermione laughed.

“Have you thought about having children Hermione?” Narcissa asked in a deceptively casual tone.

Dromeda rolled her eyes, “Subtle, Cissy. Why not just drawn up a Marriage Contract right now?”

“What makes you think I haven’t already?”

“Keep your plans to yourself,” Dromeda ordered, “Once a child has fought a war and come of age, they are allowed to ignore all dating advice from drunk adults.”

“I am not drunk!” Narcissa argued, “Not until this evening, anyway.”

“Don’t take her crap Hermione,” Dromeda advised the younger witch, “No matter what rubbish she says, just threaten to have children out of wedlock and she’ll shut-up.”

“Andromeda!” Narcissa cried, “Stop giving my future daughter-in-law tips like that!”

Dromeda only laughed at her outrage.

“Where did Mum and Dad go?” George asked with a frown.

“Out,” Dromeda replied sneakily.

“That doesn’t make sense; they said they were visiting here,” Hermione said worriedly.

Narcissa smiled, “Well, sometimes a couple needs alone time. With a house full of teenagers, it is hard to -”

“Stop right there,” Dromeda interrupted her sister, “How much of that wine have you had?”

Ginny was staring at the two of them in horror, “Mum and Dad snuck off somewhere to have sex?”

Hermione giggled into her hands while George paled noticeably.

“They’re too old,” George protested, “They don’t, they can’t!”

Dromeda and Narcissa were laughing openly at the disgust the two Weasley siblings were displaying.

“I assure you that they do,” Dromeda chuckled, “They’re only in their forties! They have decades of -”

“I need some Firewhiskey,” George moaned.

“I wish I was deaf,” Ginny decided.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Dromeda admonished, “Isn’t it nice to know that in fifty years you and Harry will still be sneaking off to have some -”

“Don’t say it,” Hermione cried.

“I was going to say ‘some time alone’,” Dromeda laughed, “Teenager are so high strung these days.”

“You two are nuts,” Ginny muttered.

Hermione had been diligently avoiding thoughts about the third Black sister who haunted her nightmares. Ginny’s comment triggered memories which caused her jovial mood to vanish. She was sure she could manage the attack until Dromeda laughed. It was a sincere sound but her resemblance to her insane sister tipped Hermione over the edge of her control.

The playful conversation continued while she struggled to retain her composure. She felt her heart rate speed up uncomfortably. Hermione focused on her breathing and let her eyes fixate on her cup of tea. The pattern on the side of the cup shuddered as her eyes struggled to focus. She could feel the tightening in her chest which always pissed her off; she hated feeling less than capable.

Ginny reached out to touch Hermione’s shoulder with concern. She recognised the symptoms of an anxiety attack; they were quite common at the Burrow since the war.

Hermione barely recognised the warm arm which sought to comfort her. She did not hear the words offering support. She did not hear the fireplace whoosh or the new arrival curse at the ash on his clothing.

Awareness began to creep back in after she was lifted onto a secure lap and enclosed by a pair of strong arms. She was being rocked like a small child and the motion was oddly soothing.

“Draco?” she realized.

The grey eyes she had assumed would always be so cold were more expressive than she had every realized.

“I’m here,” he replied softly. His hand began stroking her hair.

Usually someone would ask if she was ‘alright’ after an attack. She always felt like they were really asking if she could act normal so they could forget the trauma she was trying to live with.

“You’re not going to ask if I’m ‘alright’?” she joked feebly.

He raised one eyebrow, “None of us are ‘alright’, my Sweet. We simply are.”

“Where’s the Firewhiskey?” George demanded loudly, “Malfoy is getting poetic; I should be allowed to get completely off my face.”

Harry stepped out of the fireplace wearing an expression of concern. His eyes darted around the room as he moved forward to clear the path. Ron arrived moments later.

“Is everyone alright?” Harry asked worriedly, his eyes on Hermione, “Malfoy took off like Buckbeak was after him, again.”

“I’m not alright and I never will be again,” George declared, “These sisters are telling awful, and clearly untrue things about my parents; who are clearly celibate as they are over thirty.”

Ron stared at his brother with wide eyes, “What?”

Dromeda smiled at the youngest Weasley brother, “Your parents have nipped off for some alone time. For some reason, the idea that they might be still sexually active alarmed young George.”

“Where’s Buckbeak when you need to make a quick escape?” Harry muttered.

Ron paled, which made his freckles stand out alarmingly, “They don’t; they can’t. No.”

“That’s what I said!” George cried, “The matter is settled; you’re wrong Dromeda. I love you as an Aunt but you are clearly completely incorrect in this case.”  
Dromeda rolled her eyes, “Sure.”

Narcissa was watching her son and his mate. Thoughts of marriage and future babies had been overshadowed by the memory of the young witch screaming under the wand of Bellatrix.

“My future daughter-in-law clearly needs some soothing attention from you Draco,” she said aloud.

Draco nodded, “I should head back anyway so the Ministry doesn’t think I’m trying to escape or something.”

George held out his glass, which had previously contained orange juice, “Firewhiskey? I’m begging you!”


	50. Heart to Heart

Dromeda waited until Draco and Hermione had disappeared through the fireplace before turning to Harry and Ron.

“Did he say what triggered the attack?” she asked the young wizards.

Harry sat down next to Ginny, “Draco said something about when she was tortured by Bellatrix,” he admitted.

Narcissa nodded sadly, “Unfortunately you do bear a passing resemblance to that crazy woman,” she said to her surviving sister.

Dromeda crossed her arms over her chest, “That sounds like an insult, Cissy.”

Narcissa rolled her eyes, “You are the version who did not spend over a decade in prison, embrace the morality of a psycho and the demeanour of an unbalanced fifty-year-old prostitute with permanent PMS.”

George burst into laughter and clutched at his chest in his attempts to breathe, “Mrs Malfoy; talking like that makes me want to marry you!”

Narcissa raised one eyebrow at him, “I appreciate the offer George, but I fear my marriage to Lucius is rather permanent. Also, I did hear something interesting from Ginny earlier which makes me think we would not be suited.”

George glared at his sister, who grinned back confidently.

“She doesn’t so threesomes,” Ginny laughed. George turned bright red and reached for his glass. Sadly, it was still not full of Firewhiskey.

“Fabian and Gideon were rather handsome,” Narcissa mused.

Dromeda nodded, “Though they were always rather full of themselves.”

“I suspect that is a Gryffindor trait,” Narcissa mused.

Ginny, Harry, Ron and George all protested while she smiled at them mischievously.

“I withdraw my proposal,” George huffed.

“I don’t blame you,” Dromeda laughed, “Having Draco as a step-son would be a nightmare.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco allowed Hermione to return to the Burrow on her own two feet even though he wanted to scoop her up and hide her somewhere warm and safe.

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asked quietly once they were in the familiar living room.

Hermione observed the concern in his eyes and felt the tension in his emotions. She reached out to take his hand.

“I suspect it was the same nightmare you have; only from a different perspective,” she admitted softly.

Draco froze in place when she confirmed his fear. He would never be able to forgive himself for his lack of action on that day; his mate had suffered, and he had not been strong enough to protect her.

Hermione saw the despair on his face for a moment before he dropped to his knees in front of her and pressed his face against her stomach. The muffled sob she heard broke her heart.

“I’m so sorry Hermione,” he offered in an agonised voice, “I’ll never forgive myself for that day.”

Hermione ran her hands through his silky hair and wished he would look up at her, “There is nothing to forgive; had she found out what I was to you, we would both have been killed.”

“I tried to fight the Imperius,” Draco moaned into her shirt, “But I wasn’t strong enough. I’m never strong enough.”

“Draco Malfoy!” Hermione snapped, “Stop this self-pity right now before I tell your mother!”  
Draco slowly looked up to see the annoyed expression she wore.

“What’s your middle name?” Hermione demanded to know.

“Abraxas,” Draco admitted, “Behold the irony.”

“Draco Abraxas Malfoy; stand up, wipe those tears away and carry me to the shed. I want a cuddle and I want it now.”

Draco stood up and regarded her warily. He had witnessed many strange mood swings from the females in Slytherin house but this one was startling even to him.

“I’m not good at cuddling,” he offered with a frown.

Hermione rolled her eyes, grabbed his hand and led him out to the shed. He was still regarding her strangely so she shoved him onto the bed before he could say something irritating. Sadly, he had never been one to hold his tongue.

“I didn’t realize you were so aggressive in the bedroom,” Draco said with a smirk.

“You can just wait to find out what I like in the bedroom,” she retorted sharply, “In the meantime I don’t want you to hate yourself for the war; if anything you can apologize for being such an arse at Hogwarts.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not to me; you’ve already done that. Try apologizing to Harry and Ron.”

The idea clearly displeased him, “Do I have to? They were so bloody annoying!”

“Were? So, they are not anymore?”

Draco shifted over so Hermione could lie on the bed next to him.

“They are still just as irritating,” he clarified, “I have simply grown more tolerant.”

Hermione settled so she was pressed up against his side, “Tolerant? Yeah, sure.”

“I am very tolerant,” Draco protested as he smiled at the ceiling, “I haven’t pulled my wand on Weasley no matter what rubbish pours out of his mouth and Potter hasn’t been subjected to any barbs about his lacklustre performance in bed.”

“Why would you assume he wasn’t any good in bed?” Hermione asked curiously.

His hand began to stroke her hair gently, “My love, all men are rubbish the first time. After all the anticipation lasting a minute is impressive. If Weaslette was lucky, he was up for another round she wouldn’t miss if she blinked.”

“Ginny wanted to tell me all sorts of horrible details, but I begged her not to,” Hermione admitted.

“Who else is she going to tell?” Draco countered, “Molly?”

“Luna?”

“I’m sure she tried; Looney probably wanted to take her hunting for Crumple-Horned trouser snakes.”

Draco loved hearing her laugh, especially when her breasts were pressed into his ribcage. Her insane hair was perched next to him like a feral animal; it smelled quite nice. He had to admit that the river of curls was a nice change compared to the brown hedge he had become accustomed to at Hogwarts.

“If I do let Ginny share the gory details, I might need a shoulder to commiserate on,” Hermione warned, “Could you handle that?”

Draco shuddered at the thought, “What’s one more nightmare when I have so many to choose from?”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

After hours of conversation, Hermione hesitated. She knew that she tended to blurt out questions which made other people uncomfortable.

Draco felt the shift in her emotions easily; they had spent a significant chunk of time analysing their connection and its implications. He had only been mildly insulted at being called her ‘mood ring’; of course, she had to explain what it was first.

“Hesitation, concern and a hint of self-doubt,” Draco mused, “What has my beautiful mate so worried?”

Hermione pressed her lower lip between her teeth thoughtfully. Draco leaned forward to kiss her.

“I am powerless when you bite your lip like that,” he confided.

Hermione did not let him distract her, “I was wondering about your Father actually.”

Draco pulled back sharply, “Not the pillow talk I was hoping for,” he admitted.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, “Do you really hate him? I mean, he’s your father. I couldn’t imagine ever hating mine.” She trailed off as the pain of losing her parents to their new memories flared in her chest.

“I don’t hate him,” Draco confided, “He is not worth even that. I feel complete apathy toward him; if he was to die right now I would shrug and wonder what was for dinner.”

Hermione wasn’t sure if she believed him. His emotions seemed genuine, yet he had expressed his anger toward his sire to readily in the past.

Draco could feel her doubt, “I hate what he has done, and may do in the future,” he added, “But as a person, he is nothing to me.”

“When you were a child, did you love him?”

Draco frowned thoughtfully, “I respected him; and definitely feared him. I don’t know if I loved him as a parent; he didn’t inspire love in those around him.”

Hermione could certainly understand that; she suspected Lucius Malfoy fitted the profile of a sociopath.

“I always loved my mother,” Draco continued, “And she clearly loved me back. It was always impossible to tell with Lucius.”

“Do you still respect him?”

The derisive snort gave her the answer before he began speaking, “Not once I saw him snivelling at the feet of the Noseless Bastard.”

“I can’t help but wonder if you would still be training to be a mini-Lucius if Voldemort hadn’t returned,” Hermione admitted.

Draco grimaced, “Maybe; right up until I threw away my inheritance to marry you.”

Hermione jabbed him in the chest with two fingers, “Listen here Malfoy; you wouldn’t have been marrying me because I would have laughed myself sick at your proposal.”

“With all my charm, good looks and sense of humour?” Draco teased, “You would have swooned before me.”

Hermione laughed into his shoulder, “I’m sure I would have landed on the floor while laughing hard enough to pull muscles in my abdomen.”

“You wound me,” Draco moaned, “How could fate lead me to such a shrew?”

“Shrew?!” Hermione pressed her hand over his mouth in a futile attempt to silence him. Within seconds they were wrestling on the bed like children.

Draco pinner her to the mattress with his bodyweight. Truthfully, she wasn’t struggling against him.

“I keep expecting Potter and Weasley to burst in and accuse me of trying to kill you,” Draco said with a lopsided grin.

Hermione looked over at the open doorway. Draco followed her gaze before losing interest and deciding to nuzzle her neck instead.

Surprisingly, they were not disturbed until Ginny was sent out to fetch them for dinner. The younger witch had her hands pressed over her eyes just in case they were naked.

“Put your clothes on and come in for tea,” Ginny announced from the doorway.

“You can look Gin,” Hermione assured her, “We’re fully dressed.”

“Unfortunately,” Draco sighed.

Ginny grinned, “Ron and Harry owe me a Galleon.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The following day was a Thursday. Draco enjoyed the uneventful hours of the morning as they allowed him to observe Hermione as she slept, ate breakfast and interacted with everyone.

The sibling relationship with Potter was easy to spot once he was looking for it. He was clearly the brother she had never had, and Weaslette had been accepted as a sister-in-law by extension. Draco shuddered to imagine how pussy-whipped Potter was going to be once the wedding took place.

Hermione’s relationship with George Weasley was also of the platonic variety, though Draco suspected that if she hinted, he would gladly pursue her as a girlfriend.

The interactions with Weasley were as interesting as they were infuriating. The remains of their relationship seemed to hang between them like an unacknowledged cloud of mist. He made sure to keep the redhead off balance by growling audibly when he got too close to Hermione.

“Do you have gas or something, Malfoy?” Potter asked with a smirk, “I keep hearing weird noises like a puppy being stepped on.”

Draco rolled his eyes at the wizard, “Don’t pretend that I’m not intimidating.”

“Just like the puppy,” Potter replied smugly.

Each time he growled the Annoying Duo would tense and their heart rates spiked. Even Hermione would glance at him worriedly until their emotional connection reassured her that he was not angry.

“Yeah, sure,” Draco said, sounding disinterested, “Potter isn’t scared of anything.”

“Not true,” Hermione piped up with a smile, “When Ginny is pissed off she gets this tone of voice that can make Harry run away and hide.”

Weasley nodded thoughtfully, “And sometimes she gets this look in her eye and all she has to do is glare at him; I’ve seen him start babbling apologies even when he doesn’t know what he has done wrong.”

“Who wouldn’t be afraid of Weaslette?” Draco countered, “I’ve seen what Molly can do and Ginny is even more powerful. Give it a few years and the Ministry will cringe when she raises her voice.”

“Thank-you Malfoy,” Ginny said from the doorway, “It turns out you’re not just a pretty face.”

“Not even that,” Weasley muttered.


	51. Daphne

Daphne Greengrass had never exemplified a typical Slytherin. She had tried in order to please her parents, but it had never felt right.

The Sorting Hat had known; as soon as it had been place upon her head it had chuckled knowingly.

“Another Hufflepuff desperate to be miserable to please Pureblood parents,” it had mused, “You know, I wonder why I bother half the time; it’s not sorting if I don’t put you in the most suitable House.”

“Please put me in Slytherin,” Daphne pleaded, “Mum will kill me if I’m put anywhere else. I’ll be shunned by all the family portraits.”

“I met most of those portraits when they were still alive,” the Hat scoffed, “Believe me, they’re not worth listening to.”

“My dad would be so disappointed.”

The Sorting Hat made an odd grumbling noise, “Fine but remember my words; you have the heart of a Hufflepuff, and it deserves better than the indifference of a loveless arranged marriage.”

When the hat announced, ‘Slytherin!’ in a confident voice, Daphne was relieved. The cute redhead she had spotted on the train frowned at her before the next name was called.

She soon found out that the boy was a Weasley. More than one member of her new House spewed their opinions about blood-traitors and their pathetic lives while Daphne remained silent.

As a Pureblood, Daphne was expected to spend time with the half-bloods as little as possible. Pansy Parkinson had been an acquaintance for years so Daphne knew her parents would approve of the friendship. Over the years she had developed an understanding of the different masks a pureblood was expected to don.

Pansy had been drowning in Pureblood expectations from the day she was born. The Parkinson line could be traced back six hundred years; which paled in comparison to many other members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Daphne had been forced to memorise the Greengrass line back to the fall of the Roman Empire before moving on to other ‘acceptable’ bloodlines.

Pansy was being conditioned to marry for status, whereas Daphne knew she had to marry for wealth. The Greengrass name was old enough to be valued even as their vaults shrank in volume.

Astoria was two years younger than Daphne and had had her eye on Draco Malfoy since the day Daphne had left for Hogwarts. Her parents had been scheming ever since.

Daphne had accepted a friendship with the blonde boy but her Hufflepuff heart shied away from him. Any woman able to breech the barriers around the Malfoy heir had to be as determined as she was crazy.

While Pansy became her best friend, Theo Nott slipped into her life as a brother. Daphne had immediately known that the slim boy with the ever-observant eyes was as comfortable in Slytherin as she was. His only friend was Draco and even that relationship seemed tenuous.

When alcohol had been slipped into the dorms in third year Theo had confessed that he spent most of his summer holidays at Draco’s place just to avoid his own father. If Lucius Malfoy was the kinder option, Daphne didn’t ever want to encounter Thadius Nott.

Daphne had watched Theo mature rapidly that year. He had always been quiet and prone to keeping his own company so when he began to blush every time Tracy Davis looked his way Daphne was worried. Tracy was lovely but she was a half-blood. As the only heir to the Nott bloodline Theo would never be allowed to be with Tracy.

It was an awful reality, but one which she had long ago accepted. As soon as she had approached Theo about his apparent crush the young man had nodded politely and thanked her for her concern. He had clearly studied the manners of snobbish Purebloods thoroughly.

When she had offered her hair to go into a polyjuice potion the façade had slipped for a second. He looked so lost that someone was offering to help him without being coerced or getting something out of it for themselves.

Daphne had confessed what the Sorting Hat had told her. Theo took months to trust her but eventually he admitted that if he hadn’t demanded to be put in Slytherin, he would have been a Ravenclaw. Getting to know Theo was a challenge in itself; the young man was so private and withdrawn from his peers that she doubted he even knew himself.

Daphne didn’t mind people assuming she and Theo were a couple; she just stayed out of sight when Tracy was using her appearance and rolled her eyes at the owls from her parents encouraging her to become Lady Nott.

Theo and Tracy had broken up amicable after a few months. Daphne knew she had a friend for life in the half-blood even if they could never acknowledge it publicly while Voldemort was around.

Theo had been the first to realize that Daphne had a crush on someone outside of their House. He had offered to pretend to be courting her so that no-one would become suspicious. She had never needed to use the polyjuice potion he offered to brew as she had been too shy to approach the redhead she wanted.

The fling with Draco had been stress-relief more than anything else. He had been desperate for any type of warmth and she had been terrified by the way Death Eaters had started visiting her parents. The intimacy they had shared had never passed what she considered to be third base; the need to preserve her virginity to abide by a Pureblood engagement contract had been clearly understood.

When she had found out that Draco was staying with the Weasley family she had been incredibly curious. She knew she would have to tread carefully to find out what Ron knew about her liaison with her fellow Slytherin to avoid provoking hostilities.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco waited in the living room nervously. Daphne and her father were due to arrive at any minute. How was he supposed to greet a friend who had been bitten by a werewolf? Was he supposed to pretend everything was normal or offer condolences?

When he had asked Hermione, she had rolled her eyes and ordered him to treat her as though the bite had never happened. She had been rather annoyed that he even had to ask.

Draco was remembering the way she had huffed at him when the commotion in the fireplace began. He flinched in surprise before regaining his composure.

Anthony Greengrass brushed some soot off his robes and glanced around the living room disdainfully.

“What an interesting residence,” he said nonchalantly as Daphne appeared in the fireplace.

“Draco!” Daphne launched herself at the Malfoy heir, “I’ve missed you!”

She was stronger than he had anticipated; he would be lucky to avoid bruises.

“I missed you too, Daph.”

“It’s always pleasant to see you, Mr Malfoy,” Lord Greengrass said formally.

Draco nodded, “Just ‘Draco’ is fine. The Malfoy name is not a popular one at the moment.”

Daphne froze and a hint of gold crept into her eyes, “What is that smell? Is that you?”

Draco stepped backward carefully, “I would prefer not to divulge that at the moment,” he replied awkwardly, “There is no threat.”

Her nostrils flared, which was almost amusing, “You reek of danger.”

Anthony Greengrass was observing the exchange with interest. Before his wife had passed away they had discussed the possibility of a marriage contract between Astoria and the Malfoy heir. With Daphne afflicted with Lycanthropy it was crucial that the younger Greengrass daughter marry respectably. If there was something wrong with Draco, then those plans would have to be abandoned.

“The Weasley family was polite enough to give us some privacy, but I am sure they want to meet both of you,” Draco said in an effort to distract the pair, “I must warn you that their eldest son Bill was bitten by Greyback just over a year ago. Like you, he doesn’t shift. He wanted to meet you to answer any questions you may have.”

Anthony Greengrass tried to hide his surprise. A match between Daphne and a Weasley was not exactly desirable but a husband who shared her condition would help her. He was a scheming Lord when he had to be, but as a father he wanted her to be happy.

“Is Bill single?” he asked politely.

Daphne growled at him in a distinctly inhuman tone. Draco smirked at the pair of them.

“Bill is happily married and planning a family with wife,” Draco informed them, “I can guarantee that you will find no-one more accepting than Ronald. He is annoying at the best of times, but I believe Daphne could have him in hand quickly.”

“See?” Daphne said to her father, “I make good choices.”

Draco snorted, “He is still as annoying as ever. I admit I respect his reaction to finding out about the bite but little else has changed.”

“How did he react?” Anthony asked seriously. Any initial disgust could be understood but he would not allow Daphne to be courted by a male who would hold her condition against her.

“He shrugged and asked when she wanted to visit,” Draco replied, “I might have told him that she had a split end for all he cared.”

Daphne smiled smugly.

“Does he understand the implications of Lycanthropy?” Anthony wondered, “The impact on fertility and -”

“Enough Dad,” Daphne sighed, “We’re here to say hello, not arrange a marriage. His brother was bitten; of course he understands. He is _accepting_ and a genuinely decent guy.”

“Draco, if you had a sister would you approve of her dating the youngest Mr Weasley?” Anthony asked flatly.

Draco hid a shudder and took refuge in honestly, “Frankly, I consider Daphne to be a sister. I have no problem with her interest in Ronald.”

Daphne beamed at him. He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “Though considering how fast Weasley’s breed I would secure an engagement sooner rather than later.”

“Charming, Draco,” Daphne sighed, “If you sharpen that wit anymore I may have to stab you with it.”

“I’ll fetch Mr and Mrs Weasley,” Draco offered with a smug grin, “They wanted to greet you properly.”

Anthony Greengrass watched his daughter study the room while they waited. The Weasley house was clearly not a seat of wealth, yet there were no signs of extreme poverty either. If he wasn’t familiar with their bloodline, he would assume they were run-of-the-mill half-bloods.

Draco led in the couple in question. He had met them in passing years earlier at a Ministry function.

“Lord Greengrass,” Mr Weasley greeted confidently, “Arthur Weasley at your service. Welcome to our home. This is my wife, Molly.”

Anthony shook Arthur’s hand and kissed Molly’s knuckles.

“Thank-you for your hospitality,” he replied honestly, “This is my eldest daughter, Daphne.”

Arthur took her hand and kissed her knuckles as protocol dictated. Molly beamed at the slim blonde girl and enveloped her in a hug.

Daphne blinked back tears; since her mother had died a few months earlier she had sorely missed the embrace of a confident matriarch.

“Thank-you for allowing us to visit,” Daphne gushed, “Now that the stupid war is over we don’t have to hide. When I found out Draco was staying here-”

“She desperately wanted to drop by to flirt with Ronald,” Draco teased.

“I think the elves need assistance in the kitchen, Draco,” Molly said pointedly to the blonde.

Daphne waited for an angry reaction from her friend. Instead he inclined his head toward Mrs Weasley, winked at Daphne and left the room.

“You’ve trained him quickly,” Daphne mused when Draco had left the room, “We’ve spent years trying to beat some manners into him.”

Molly chuckled, “After six sons, one Malfoy wasn’t a challenge.”

Anthony Greengrass felt his admiration for the Weasley matriarch shoot upwards. No pureblood in the last thousand years had managed to raise so many children. Truthfully, convincing a Malfoy to see past the end of his own nose was a striking victory in its own right.

“Would you like some tea, Lord Greengrass?” Molly invited.

“Please, call me Anthony.”


	52. Pureblood Mating Rituals Part 1

Draco liked to watch the subtle dance of pureblood arrangements as long as he wasn’t a target. He sipped his tea and smiled at how uncomfortable Weasley was.

Bill sat next to his brother and shared a knowing glance with the Slytherin. If anyone could blurt out something inappropriate and drive Lord Greengrass away, it was Ron.

Daphne was the unknown element; if she decided to pursue Ron without parental approval, anything could happen. Bill hoped that even if they were not romantically suited, they could be friends.

The scent of another wolf made him shudder. Had the approaching wolf been male he would have been growling already. The female scent in the air only aroused curiosity. He was mated so there was no temptation there; only a potential threat.

“This is our eldest son, Bill,” Arthur introduced.

Bill stood up slowly, allowing his full height to intimidate the guests without saying a word. Ron also rose to his feet, though he trusted his brother not to hurt anyone.

“It’s a pleasure,” Bill offered. His eyes turned toward the blonde woman with the distinctive scent.

Draco watched in trepidation as Bill stepped far too close to Daphne and inhaled a deep breath near her shoulder. Anthony Greengrass appeared offended and perhaps afraid of Bill’s proximity to his daughter.

Daphne remained still with her eyes on her feet. Even Draco could see the submission in her stance.

Bill stepped back and offered a tight smile, “My apologies; I may not shift at the full moon, but the wolf is always there.”

“I understand,” Daphne replied bravely as she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, “Even if others do not.”

Wixon and Moxie distracted everyone by presenting tea and biscuits. Arthur took a seat at the table, clearly not interested in the etiquette of pureblood socializing.

“This is our youngest son, Ronald,” Molly introduced.

Weasley had all the grace of a drunken centaur. Draco bit his tongue to hold in the withering comment. Luckily, Daphne was not interested in entertaining social niceties either.

“Hi Ron!” she greeted happily. She held out her hand and beamed at him.

Weasley took her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles as Draco had instructed. He had even practised on Ginny to make sure he didn’t embarrass himself too badly.

Draco decided that Weasley wasn’t a complete loss as long as he was given clear instructions in short sentences.

“Hi, um, hello Daphne,” Weasley gazed at Daphne like a small child staring at Santa Claus.

“This is my father, Anthony,” Daphne introduced.

Weasley blinked at her stupidly before realizing there was someone standing behind her.

“Hello, young man,” Anthony Greengrass greeted in an imperious tone.

Draco watched Weasley’s ears turn red as he mumbled a greeting to Lord Greengrass. Clearly, Weasley was not impressing him.

Molly ushered Anthony into a seat while Arthur watched their interactions with a smile. Daphne giggled at something Weasley had said.

“So, Ronald, what are your plans for the future?” Anthony asked formally.

“He will be finishing his education at Hogwarts,” Molly offered immediately.

Draco smirked into his cup of tea.

“Then I want to go into Auror training with Harry,” Weasley added, “We’ve been offered internships as long as we get the right NEWTS.”

Draco knew Weasley had risen in esteem with that plan; having an Auror in the family would help deflect any suspicion about alliances. Anthony bore the Dark Mark, which would elicit judgement from people not interested in knowing he was forced to submit.

“A very respectable plan,” Anthony mused, “But I must ask; do you really have no qualms about Daphne’s condition?”

Draco wondered if he would have to explain the meaning of ‘qualm’ to the redhead. Even though she was not present, he could almost hear Hermione telling him off for being so rude.

“Why would it bother me?” Weasley wondered. The sincerity in his voice was as astonishing as it was admirable.

“Many wizards would hear the term Lycanthropy and run a mile,” Anthony admitted.

Weasley snorted, which made Anthony frown, “Then, they’re idiots. Bill is the same guy he always was.”

Daphne beamed at him before turning on her father triumphantly, “See?”

Molly sipped her tea with a knowing smile.

“Even if she bites you Weasley, your symptoms couldn’t be worse than hers,” Draco offered, “You could get grumpy and eat raw steak together.”

“Draco, I thought you had finally learned some manners,” Daphne huffed, “Clearly I was wrong. Feel free to leave the room at your earliest possible convenience.”

“I’ve been saying that since he got here,” Weasley said with a dopey grin, “It’s like having an annoying, moody pet hanging around.”

“Ron, why don’t you show Miss Greengrass around the property?” Molly suggested.

Draco recognised the mischievous expression which flashed across Daphne’s face; she was going to pounce as soon as the opportunity arose. He was glad he had a strong stomach.

“Are the wards strong?” Anthony asked worriedly, “We have received threats.”

“Very,” Arthur replied, “The Ministry had Aurors reinforce them after the war, and they were checked again when Draco came to stay with us.”

Weasley offered Daphne his arm like a proper gentleman. She took it with a nervous smile and allowed him to lead her outside. Draco tried not to imagine what they were going to get up to.

Anthony nodded, clearly reassured, “I am curious about your presence here, Mr Malfoy.”

“The Manor was breeched,” Draco replied shortly, “Mother and I were moved for our own safety.”

“And Lucius?”

“Buggered off, finally,” Draco replied rudely.

Arthur chuckled into his tea while Molly frowned at him.

“I’m surprised the Daily Prophet hasn’t reported anything more than a passing comment,” Anthony mused.

“The Ministry has been rather tight-lipped about the incident at Malfoy Manor,” Arthur admitted, “With Lucius still on the run it is best not to give too much away.”

“I understand your relationship with the Weasley family was less than friendly,” Anthony said to Draco, “I am surprised that you seem to have settled in so well.”

Molly smiled into her tea while Arthur chuckled, “Luckily, Draco has been on his best behaviour.”

“I don’t have to put on an act to please Lucius anymore,” Draco explained blandly, “I am not being watched by the children of Death Eaters intent on reporting my every move either. Frankly, it is rather refreshing.”

Anthony nodded at the blonde thoughtfully. The Malfoy name was synonymous with pariah in the current political climate, but over time and with the backing of very full bank vaults their position would improve. A match with Astoria in three or four years was still an interesting possibility.

“I can only imagine how difficult it must have been to live with that tyrant,” Anthony agreed solemnly.

“I am scarred for life,” Draco said airily, “And to add insult to injury, I will be heading back to Hogwarts to complete my final year and endure the scorn of my peers.”

“Daphne and Astoria will be returning as well,” Anthony replied, skilfully avoiding acknowledging the young wizard’s mental state, “My contacts at the Ministry have informed me that both of the Carrows will be receiving the Kiss before the end of the month.”

“As much as I detest Dementors, there are many Death Eaters who deserve their attention,” Arthur sighed, “Kingsley is ensuring everyone is receiving fair trials.”

“And hunting the Death Eaters who are still on the run,” Molly added.

Anthony frowned at the reminder, “Have they all been identified? The Ministry makes promises yet doesn’t cough up a finalized list of who could show up for revenge.”

“I can guarantee Rookwood and Avery are still loose,” Draco offered, “I hope the Aurors bring them back in pieces.”

“Draco, who don’t you check on Ron and Daphne?” Molly suggested.

“I’m sure they’re off snogging somewhere,” Draco replied.

“Now.”

With a smirk at the witch Draco set aside his empty cup and headed outside.

Anthony waited until the young man had enough time to leave hearing range before he addressed the other two adults in the room.

“I must say I am impressed by how hospitable you are being,” he said in a strained voice. He had heard stories of the dirt-poor Weasley family for years and yet there was no substance to the rumours at all.

“Draco just needed a chance to separate himself from his Father,” Molly said easily.

Anthony recognised a subtle witch playing games with words from across a Quidditch pitch. Arthur seemed to be as accepting and kind as he appeared, but his wife was a mystery wrapped in motherly concern.

“I was referring to your treatment of me,” Anthony continued quietly, “Though I have never spoken against your family, I have never stood up to those who did.”

Molly nodded, clearly hearing his unspoken promise to change his behaviour in the future.

“Now that we no longer have to live in fear, I look forward to everyone becoming more accepting,” Arthur said hopefully.

“I was hesitant when Daphne mentioned wanting to meet your son like this,” Anthony admitted, “I always thought I’d have to arrange a marriage for my girls, and I dreaded the idea.”

“I was so thankful when my parents decided to cast off that particular tradition,” Molly said with a smile, “And so far, our children have been making very good choices in that department.”

Draco sauntered back into the house wearing a cocky grin.

“Shouldn’t you be talking to Ron and Daphne?” Molly asked him pointedly.

“It would be a very one-sided conversation,” Draco revealed while examining his fingernails in apparent disinterest, “They’re too busy snogging to participate.”

An owl fluttered in as Anthony was making a quick exit to find his daughter. Draco took the letter the bird offered while Arthur dug out some treats for it.

_Dear Draco,_

_I had to get special permission to write this letter to you because you are a huge pain in the backside. As you simply have to know; I was taken into protective custody not long after the Battle for Hogwarts because that bastard sperm-donor who thinks he is a father was not killed or captured._

_Since he is on the run, the Aurors whisked me into a safe house in case dear old Daddy tries to force me to join his pathetic little cult or kill me for giving an honest opinion._

_I will be in Hogsmeade for the mid-July beginning to the school year and I suspect there will be Aurors stationed all around the village until every last one of us is safely within the walls of Hogwarts._

_I have been told to inform you that if you send any more owls they will send you Howlers which would make Dragon-trainers blush._

  * _Theo_



_PS: Happy Birthday. I didn’t bother getting you a present as Lucius gave you the best one by pissing off._

Anthony ushered Daphne back into the house while Draco smiled at the letter. It was quite a relief to know that Theo was safe and happy enough to retain his sense of humour.

“Your behaviour is hardly proper, Daphne,” Anthony admonished his daughter.

Weasley crept into the house behind the annoyed father. Molly and Arthur shared a smile before assuming expressions of mild disapproval.

“I’m not ‘proper’ and I don’t want to be,” Daphne replied bluntly, “I’m an adult and if I want to snog Ron, that’s what I will do. His scent is delicious!”

Weasley blushed while Draco tried not to gag.

“Do I have to stay for lunch?” Draco pleaded, “I have suddenly lost my appetite.”

“You’re just jealous because you smell like spoilt milk,” Daphne replied haughtily.

“I do not!” Draco protested.

Bill cleared his throat, “Actually Draco, your scent is off from our points of view. I believe your ‘condition’ has changed it to warn wolves to keep away.”

“Condition?” Anthony repeated.

“Nothing life-threatening,” Draco replied quickly, “Though I would prefer to keep it private.”

Daphne whispered something to Weasley which made him bark out a laugh before clapping his hand over his mouth.

“Something to share Ronald?” Molly asked pointedly.

Weasley frantically shook his head. Draco decided that he did not want to know what medical condition Daphne has suggested; he was sure it was not at all flattering.


	53. Pureblood Mating Rituals Part 2

Hermione, Harry and Ginny were in Diagon Alley buying their schoolbooks. They had also offered to buy the items for Ron and Draco as they were busy with the guests.

“I wish I was at the Burrow right now,” Ginny mused, “I want to know who the mystery girl is.”

“I’m worried about Ron’s reaction,” Hermione admitted, “If Parkinson walks in, he’d say something like ‘Dear Merlin, not Pug-face!’.” Her impression of Ron’s voice wasn’t particularly accurate.

“It can’t be Parkinson,” Harry pointed out, “As she is bringing her father; Mr Parkinson is in Azkaban for a year.”

“He might be able to maintain his composure, then,” Hermione said hopefully.

Ginny giggled, which drew curious glances from both of them.

“She was bitten by a wolf,” Ginny explained, “Bill said he gets this weird urge to sniff new people when he meets them.”

Hermione laughed at that image while Harry only looked more apprehensive.

“I’m glad I’m not meeting her then,” he muttered.

“If it works out with Ron, you may have to spend lots of time with her,” Hermione teased. She leaned toward Harry to pretend to sniff his shoulder.

“I wonder if she bites,” Ginny mused. Harry shifted away from Hermione while the brunette laughed.

Hermione winked at Ginny before smiling mischievously at Harry, “You’ll have to start checking Ron for hickeys.”

“Hell, no,” Harry declared, “No, nada, never.’

Ginny pressed herself against Harry’s side and added, “Make sure you check his whole body; not just his neck.”

Hermione and Ginny were laughing so hard they barely heard Harry muttering about ‘insane women’, ‘dirty minds’ and ‘never going to sleep again’.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco sat next to Weasley during lunch and took perverse pleasure in kicking the redhead every time his table manners slipped back into old habits. Luckily, he was keeping his mouth tightly closed while chewing.

Nothing short of _Obliviate_ could convince Lord Greengrass to accept a potential match for his daughter if he saw half-chewed food.

George was dragged down from his room and harassed into greeting their guests by his mother. He raised an eyebrow at Draco before regarding the guests with interest.

Anthony and Daphne watched their interactions curiously.

“Hi there Daphne, and Daphne’s Dad,” George greeted with a genuine smile, “Are you seriously considering welcoming little Ronnikins into the family? He snores like a dragon in the mating season.”

Daphne giggled, “I was hoping we could date first. Are you jealous?”

“Definitely!” George replied while Anthony tried to hide his shock, “He’s mine I tell you! Mine!”

George threw his arms around his brothers’ neck and hung on dramatically. Across the table Bill rolled his eyes at the pair. He shared a glance with Arthur as they both silently acknowledged that Ron seemed to be the only one who could draw George out of his depressive state.

“Get off, you moron,” Weasley growled while shoving back, “I’m trying to make a good impression and you’re making all of us look like imbeciles!”

Draco grinned at the pair, “You have to admit; it wasn’t hard.”

Molly clipped him on the back of the head without losing the smile she had for Anthony, “George has a rather healthy sense of humour,” she offered, “But if he doesn’t settle down; that will be the only healthy part of him.”

George released Weasley, saluted Molly and sat down gracefully.

“I always wanted brothers,” Daphne said happily, “Tori is great but too much of a ‘Lady’, you know?”

“Let’s swap Tori for Ginny,” George suggested, “She’s as far from a ‘Lady’ as you can get without having a pair of –“

A stinging hex caught George in the neck while Anthony coughed into his hand and flushed with surprise.

“That was a warning, George,” Molly said calmly.

Daphne was grinning at them, “Dad, can we come here more often? I’m never allowed to use hexes at the dinner table.”

The activation of the Floo in the living room caught everyone by surprise. Ron was on his feet with his want out before anyone else realized that the sound was.

Anthony watched the way the youngest Weasley son used the wall as cover and peeked around the doorframe to check who had arrived. The tension in his arm and the tight grip on his wand were encouraging. He would always worry about Daphne and was pleasantly surprised to see how quickly Ronald reacted.

“Narcissa and Dromeda have arrived,” Ron said over his shoulder as Molly and Arthur approached, “Were we expecting them?”

“No,” Molly replied, “I suspect they were curious as to who Draco was introducing you to.”

Anthony watched the Weasley matriarch greet the two women and usher them to free seats at the table.

“It is lovely to see you again Anthony,” Narcissa greeted politely, “This is my sister Andromeda. Andromeda, this is Lord Greengrass.”

Dromeda offered her hand, which was lightly kissed. Anthony was clearly confused.

“How have we not been introduced before today?” he inquired curiously.

Narcissa’s gaze dropped to the cup of tea Moxie was passing to her. Andromeda took the opportunity to answer.

“I was cast out of the Black family for marrying my husband,” Dromeda provided, “He was Muggle-born. I believe I was a few years ahead of you at Hogwarts and I was eighteen when I married Ted, so our paths never crossed.”

Anthony was clearly surprised to learn about the third sister of the Black family.

“Try not to drool, Dad,” Daphne teased.

Anthony froze in horror at his daughters’ lack of manners. He turned to reprimand her when Narcissa laughed. It was a delighted and sincere sound.

“Daphne, you are a treasure!” Narcissa decided, “You would not believe how many times I have had to sit through conversations with vapid, empty-headed Pureblood girls with the sense of humour of a broom. Anthony; you have raised your daughter well.”

Anthony was slightly reassured, “Sometimes, I am not so sure. Some of the things I have heard her say recently -”

“I’m right here, Dad,” Daphne complained.

Bill, George and Arthur had settled into familiar positions to watch the drama unfold. Usually it was a group of redheads providing the entertainment, so the new participants were interesting.

“Does Draco blurt out distressing things too?” Anthony wondered.

“Regularly,” Draco replied with a grin.

“All the time,” Narcissa agreed, “If my parents were alive they would have hexed him mute years ago. Luckily, the strict and stuffy world we were raised in has lessened its death grip on society. Only foolish people like my husband cling to the old ways as though the world will be destroyed by change.”

Draco recognised the edge of a warning in her tone which most of the room did not notice. Dromeda met his eyes knowingly.

“Being a Blood Traitor doesn’t seem bad so far,” Draco offered, “Now that Snake Eyes is dead, it will probably become trendy or something.”

“Snake Eyes?” Anthony repeated in shock.

Daphne giggled, “I like it. I used to think of him as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Able-To-Smell.”

Arthur recognised how uncomfortable Anthony was with the frank discussion swirling around him. He invited the man to tour the grounds with him.

Draco winked at Daphne, “Now that Daddy has gone for a walk are you going to start singing your version of ‘Weasley is our King?’ You gave me nightmares for weeks.”

The red flush to Weasley’s face spelled trouble, “You’re an arsehole, Malfoy!”

“Ronald!” Molly cried.

“I apologize, Molly,” Draco offered, “Daphne had her own version of the song, which I’m sure she will share with Weasley. It was rather explicit about what she wanted to do with him if she got him alone and quite willing.”

Molly wasn’t sure if she was relieved or horrified. She settled on annoyed.

“Well go spend some time away from my kitchen!” she declared, “No duelling or I’ll confiscate wands. Go on; shoo!”

Draco tried to lead Daphne outside, only to have Weasley shove him out of the way so he could offer her his arm again. While he grumbled an insult at the redhead, Draco reflected that he had could teach him some manners at least.

“Let’s head in the opposite direction,” Daphne said as she spotted Anthony and Arthur chatting near the rosebushes.

“If you two are going to start inhaling each other’s faces again, I would rather listen to the conversation arranging your future marriage,” Draco decided aloud.

“Settle down, Malfoy,” Weasley sighed, “I’m sure we can control ourselves.”

“Just ignore him, Ron,” Daphne advised as they headed toward the trees, “He spent too long alone as a child; now he prattles on endlessly to keep himself company.”

“This is why I had to get Daphne here to spend some time with you,” Draco said to Weasley, “You are both as annoying as each other. Get married, have a herd or annoying children and leave me alone.”

“That is the plan,” Daphne agreed with a smile, “If you want to be the Godfather to any of them you’d better be nice to Ron.”

Draco rolled his eyes at the pair. The fact that Weasley was conscious, able to speak and not struggling with the effects of a nasty hex was clear proof that he was being exceptionally tolerant.

“How many kids?” Weasley asked Daphne curiously.

The blonde witch shrugged, “As many as I can carry. I’ve always wanted a big family. I used to beg my mother to have more kids after Astoria was born, but they decided to stop at two.”

“Usually Pureblood marriages struggle to have even two kids,” Weasley recalled.

“My parents were lucky with the timing,” Daphne replied, “The Fertility Curse from the First War, you know?”

Weasley only looked more confused, “Never heard of it.”

Draco nodded, “I doubt many on the Light side did. Snake-Eyes cast a spell to increase the fertility of all Purebloods on his side. Somehow if affected all Purebloods, not just those loyal to him.”

Daphne smiled as she observed the shocked look Weasley was wearing, “That’s why our year level had so many Purebloods in it. Most couples weren’t planning to start a family until after the war ended, but had to get married when the contraception charms failed.”  
“Slytherin only had two Purebloods in the year above us,” Draco added, “Both born late in the year. Then there was our cluster and three in the year below us.”

“Astoria is the only Pureblood in her year,” Daphne added, “She’s two years below us.”

“So, the charm only lasted a year or two?” Weasley confirmed, “I bet he was trying to make it permanent.”

“I know he had Snape looking to make a Potion to put into the water supply too,” Draco smiled sadly, “Clearly, Severus made sure it didn’t happen.”

Weasley stared off toward the thin forest, “I shudder to think of all the mini-Death Eaters which would have been running around if he had succeeded.”

“Watch it Weasley; I was a mini-Death Eater,” Draco grumbled.

“Exactly,” the redhead replied, “One of you at Hogwarts was bad enough; any more and it would have taken effort to kick your arses.”

“You were kicking nothing, Weasley,” Draco argued, “You and Potter were too busy running straight into danger because you couldn’t keep your noses out of other people’s business. If Granger wasn’t there to save you, you’d both have died in First Year.”

Daphne fought the knot of apprehension which had formed when she heard the name ‘Granger’. She had always been sure that the brunette would end up marrying Ron.

“How is Hermione?” Daphne asked bravely.

Draco and Hermione had asked the family to keep their relationship a secret at least until they returned to Hogwarts in a few weeks’ time. Post-war gossip would not help their efforts to get to know each other.

“She’s out shopping with Harry and Ginny at the moment,” Weasley provided, “They should be back soon.”

“I always thought you’d end up with her,” Daphne admitted.

Weasley frowned at Draco before giving the blonde witch his full attention, “We tried to date for a few weeks, but it just didn’t work. We’ve been friends for so long; trying anything more just felt wrong.”

“It would be like you dating Theo,” Draco added with a smile.

Daphne wrinkled her nose at that idea.


	54. Pureblood Mating Rituals Part 3

Hermione was nervous and struggling to hide it. While Harry and Ginny were eager to find out who the mystery girl was, Hermione was sure she already knew.

Draco’s emotions echoed a feeling he had experienced when he spoke of Daphne Greengrass. If she was about to come face-to-face with the witch who had seen Draco naked many times, she had a right to be nervous.

And more than a little jealous, if she could bear to admit it to herself.

Harry didn’t notice her trepidation, which was not a surprise. He was known to be quite attentive at times, yet when emotions were involved there were distinct gaps in his powers of observation.

Ginny probably knew that something was off and decided not to call attention to it. She waited until Harry had apparated back to the Burrow.

“Knut for your thoughts?” Ginny prodded.

“Draco had a thing going with a certain girl for over a year. If she’s the one crushing on Ron, it’s going to be awkward.”

“Who was Draco shagging?”

“Not shagging; lots of other things though.”

Ginny waved her hand to prompt Hermione to spit out the name.

“Daphne Greengrass.”

Ginny nodded, “I think I remember her; blonde Slytherin who always looked like she needed a good meal. If they weren’t shagging; what were they doing?”

Hermione blushed, “I didn’t ask for details. Let’s just go.”

Ginny disappeared first. Hermione counted to twenty before closing her eyes and visualising the tree near the Burrow which she used as a marker.

A lovely sound echoed across the land. Laughter.

Hermione stared in wonder. For the first time in over a month she was hearing sustained, honest laughter from Ron. She hadn’t realized how much she had missed the awful sound.

Daphne Greengrass was watching Ron with pure delight in her features. She was fascinated by the redhead in a way which Hermione never had been. The remaining traces of guilt left the brunette as she realized how much happier Ron would be with someone else.

Draco relished the joy which bubbled up within his mate. He was momentarily concerned that she was looking at Weasley while feeling so happy, only to remind himself that she did not deserve his jealousy.

The compulsion to seek her touch and reassure her of his devotion was viciously clamped down upon. Hermione had made it clear she wanted to keep their relationship a secret from the outside world for as long as possible; she had seen her name in print too often already. Though Daphne was his friend, the best way to keep a secret was to not say anything.

Draco remained concerned that meeting Daphne would unnerve her, and he had to consciously remind himself not to react like a love-struck fool.

Weasley introduced Daphne to Potter, Weaslette and Hermione with satisfactory manners. With another decade of work, he could almost pass as a gentleman.

“I wish we had been friends earlier,” Daphne was saying, “We tried to stay neutral during the war.”

“Clearly, that didn’t work too well,” Weaslette replied with her usual lack of tact.

Daphne stiffened and Draco could see the disapproval in her face.

“Had we chosen a side my entire family would be dead,” Daphne said coldly, “At least this way half my family is unharmed.”

“Half?” Hermione inquired gently.

“My mother was murdered by Death Eaters when my father refused to take the mark,” Daphne said in a trembling voice, “I was bitten and when they threatened to rape Astoria, he gave in.”

“I’m sorry,” Weaslette offered, “I didn’t mean to be so blunt.”

“I think it is a Weasley trait,” Draco offered smoothly, “After a while the honestly is appreciated. Have you ever had a conversation with Parkinson?”

Weaslette shook her head. Daphne smiled weakly, clearly understanding the joke.

“Pansy doesn’t hold back either; and she knows perfectly well when she is being insulting,” Draco explained, “It takes some getting used to.”

“Like building up a resistance to snake venom?” Weasley wondered.

Daphne frowned thoughtfully. Draco regarded Weasley with mild surprise.

“That’s a pretty good analogy,” he conceded, “Now do I have to explain what an ‘analogy’ is?”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Weasley retorted automatically, “Your venom will take years to get used to.”

“I wish telling him to keep his trap shut actually worked,” Daphne added, “When we were in First Year a group of Fifth Years got so sick of his prattling that they -”

“Daph!” Draco cried, “That story doesn’t need to be shared!”

Weaslette grinned evilly, “Oh yes it does. I’ll spell you into submission if you interrupt. Please continue, Daphne.”

“They silenced him and then stuck him to the glass wall for a few hours. The Giant Squid was very interested in his new friend,” Daphne laughed.

“How sweet!” Potter teased, “Did you ever go swimming with him?”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Only you and the other Twi-Wizard idiots were dumb enough to do that.”

“And Blaise, that one time when he got drunk and you dared him to go skinny-dipping,” Daphne added.

“I’d forgotten about that,” Draco admitted with a smile.

Daphne launched into the story which included Blaise being molested by the Giant Squid. Draco offered his mate a reassuring smile while he was not being observed.

“I think the best part was right at the end when Blaise dragged himself back onto dry land,” Daphne mused, “Theo looked completely unimpressed and announced ‘For the sake of your future wife; I hope that lake was incredibly cold’.”

Weasley, Potter and Draco watched the females burst into laughter. As males, the comment struck a little too close to their fragile egos.

“Did you have to bring that up?” Draco demanded, “Nott could rival Snape for insulting remarks.”

“He sounds like an arsehole,” Potter said with uncertainty.

“He could be,” Draco agreed, “I’ve known him for years, but I doubt I’ll ever understand him.”

“Theo doesn’t understand himself,” Daphne added, “He needs a good woman to sort him out; one who will put up with all his shit and point out when he’s being an arse without hesitation.”

“Which is most of the time,” Draco added, “I don’t know why he is in Slytherin; he is not subtle at all.”

“Like you are?” Potter laughed, “I remember your attempts to forge a friendship in First Year. You acted like I was supposed to be grateful for the offer.”

“I was brainwashed to think you would be,” Draco replied defensively, “I can’t help it if Lucius was full of shit and I was dumb enough to believe him.”

“Set Theo up with Pansy,” Weaslette suggested, “Just for entertainment value!”

“Nah, she is her own brand of evil; Theo would never survive,” Daphne laughed, “Did you hear what she would do to Snape?”

The group changed direction without discussing it. Draco suspected that Weasley didn’t want to stray far from where the food was.

“She had all of us in on a plan to embarrass the hell out of him, every month,” Daphne giggled, “Imagine the look on his face when he had to hear about menstrual cramps.”

Potter and Weasley were clearly nauseated. Draco had seen the plan being executed so many times he was immune to the same reaction.

“He’s try to tell us to see Madam Pomfrey instead, but we trusted him as our Head of House,” Daphne continued, “Within six months, half the girls in the House would drop by to chat when they were feeling crampy.”

“That’s just evil,” Hermione laughed, “No wonder he always looked so pissed off.”

Draco was watching Arthur and Anthony with undisguised curiosity. Hermione noticed his inattention long enough to follow his gaze.

“How convincing is your Father?” Draco asked Daphne without turning to address her.

“Depends on the motivation. Why?”

“I can’t imagine Arthur agreeing to draw up a Betrothal Contract yet. Maybe that’s why Lord Greengrass looks rather disappointed?”

Weasley and Potter had moved closer together instinctively, though the former seemed glad to have Daphne pressed up against his side.

“He mentioned threats against you,” Weasley recalled, “Anything specific?”

“Nice redirection there, Weasley,” Draco snorted, “Are you having commitment issues already?”

“I wish you were committed to a mental institution, Malfoy,” Potter replied for his friend. The complete lack of hostility in his tone was disappointing.

“Negative ten points for lack of effort, Potter,” Draco decided, “You need to put more energy into the insults, or no-one believes the hatred.”

“I’m sick of hatred,” Weaslette sighed.

“Your woman has spoken,” Draco teased, “No more hatred, Potter.”

“Is he always like this?” Hermione asked Daphne, while indicating Draco with one hand.

Daphne nodded, “He never shuts-up. At least he doesn’t begin every sentence with ‘My Father will hear about this!’”

The ensuing laughter was natural, and Draco was the only one who didn’t join in. He was secretly plotting his revenge.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco heard Anthony drop one final hint about the benefits of a betrothal contract before Daphne pushed him into the fireplace.

“Sorry about him,” she offered once her Father had disappeared in a whirl of green flames.

“No apologies needed, Dear,” Molly replied kindly, “Letting go of the old customs will take a while.”

Daphne planted a soft kiss on Weasley’s lips and winked at Dromeda before she too left through the fireplace.

“I like her,” Narcissa declared from her position seated next to Andromeda, “Draco, if you weren’t thoroughly entranced by Miss Granger I’d push you toward a Greengrass.”

“I wonder if you would have cooperated like a good little Malfoy heir?” Dromeda wondered aloud to her nephew.

“Probably, if Lucius was still in the picture,” Narcissa mused as though Draco wasn’t right there listening to every word, “Before the Veela gene became apparent, he had a list of suitable brides, ranked in order of preference. The Greengrass girls were both high on it.”

“I bet you would have married whoever Daddy shoved you toward,” Weasley mused.

Draco rolled his eyes, “Is everyone finished talking about me like I am not even here?”  
“Not at all,” Potter replied smugly, “If you leave the room we’ll continue.”

“You’re hilarious, Potter,” Draco replied sarcastically.

“Why did Daphne wink at you Dromeda?” Hermione asked curiously, clearly bored by the verbal sparring.

Dromeda rolled her eyes, “Daphne hinted that her Father has been in mourning for months and my company might help him with the grieving process. For a Slytherin, she is not particularly subtle.”

Narcissa nodded, “Yet she is correct; you and Anthony are both widowed. Even if you decide to remain friends, I suspect you would both benefit from spending time together.”

“You can get that smug look off your face, Cissy!” Dromeda stated firmly, “Just because you are desperate for grandchildren does not mean you can try to match-make me in the meantime.”

“Daph seems to have that covered already,” Weasley joked.

“And you’d still young enough to have more children,” Draco added, while moving toward the nearest exit, “Since Anthony has heirs already, maybe you could have a son to inherit the Black name?”

Dromeda was glaring openly at her nephew. Weasley and Potter watched the interactions with interest.

“I inherited Grimmauld Place, not the title of Lord Black,” Potter added, “It has to be carried by someone bearing the name.”

“You could always hyphenate when you marry Anthony,” Ginny teased, “You could be Andromeda Greengrass-Tonks-Black.”

“That sounds like a lawn-mowing company,” Hermione mused.

“Go back to planning your son’s wedding,” Dromeda ordered her sister, “Miss Granger seems like the type who wants a career for a few decades before she settles down to have a baby.”

Narcissa looked horrified, “Decades? Oh dear.”

Hermione was trying to sneak out of the room after Draco. Dromeda waved at them happily and asked why they were trying to escape in a loud, obnoxious voice.

“Between myself, Dromeda and the House Elves, you can still have a thriving career Hermione!” Narcissa insisted shrilly, “Miss Weasley’s plan of a baby every five years would work well; your children could go to Hogwarts together!”


	55. Friday Plans

Once Narcissa has calmed down enough to admit that Draco and Hermione having children was none of her business until they announced a pregnancy, the couple ventured back into the room.

Narcissa spent her final day of freedom before the House Arrest enjoying a meal with the Weasley family. Dromeda made sure to smooth over any awkward pauses in the conversation and both women giggled when Draco reprimanded the youngest Weasley son on his table manners.

Dinners at Malfoy Manor were formal affairs filled with silences and the clinking of cutlery. The feeble attempts at conversation never flowed well and were soon abandoned. Draco had been sure nothing could make a mealtime worse until Snake-Eyes had been reborn; he had added a dimension far beyond awkward which was beyond rational description.

Narcissa watched George spike his own drink with a small flask from his pocket while she ate. Before he could enjoy the fruits of his labours, Molly snatched the glass from his hand.

“You are amazing, Molly,” Dromeda commented, “How do you keep all the children out of trouble?”

Molly was watching George even as she returned to her meal, “I assume they’re always up to something, and I’m correct ninety percent of the time.”

“And the other ten percent?” Narcissa wondered.

“They’re asleep,” Molly replied.

“You are damaging my wonderful reputation Mother,” George protested.

“And mine,” Ginny added, “I hardly ever get caught.”

The giggling which broke out was oddly soothing to Narcissa. Draco had been a handful as a child; even with House Elves to assist she doubted having another child would have been easy. After the last miscarriage, it had been a relief to decide that Draco was enough for their family.

“Dora was a cheeky little thing,” Dromeda recalled fondly, “She had a nasty habit of changing her appearance to sneak off while we went shopping. I resorted to hooking her up to a leash.”

Harry sucked in a sharp breath and donned an expression which could only be described as ‘stricken’.

“Like a dog?” he asked in a horrified whisper.

Hermione made a dismissive noise, “Muggle parents use them; it’s to make sure toddlers don’t wander off or get snatched.”

“You tried that, Mum,” George said with a smile, “Until we escaped and left Ronnikins tied up to both leashes.”

Somehow George always managed to avoid saying his twin’s name. Narcissa shared a glance with her son which clearly ordered him to make an extra effort to help the mourning young man.

Hermione recognised the quick, silent communication between mother and son even if she didn’t understand why Draco was suddenly muttering mutinously at his dinner plate.

“Narcissa and I would like to invite you all to come to dinner every Friday night,” Dromeda announced with a smile, “Indefinitely.”

“Or for a year, at least,” Narcissa added, “House Arrest is going to be extremely boring, no matter how much alcohol can be found.”

George lifted his glass to her, and proposed a toast, “To regular piss-ups on Friday nights!”

Narcissa didn’t even see Molly lift her wand; she was only aware of the way George continued to move his mouth, but no sound could be heard.

“Dinner would be lovely,” Molly accepted with a serene smile, “Though if George is absent, it may be because he is tied up and gagged somewhere safe.”

“Understandable,” Dromeda mused.

Linna appeared in the doorway holding a cloth-covered bundle. She glanced around and beamed at the variety of greetings she received.

“Hello to all!” Linna squeaked, “Teddy has napped, made a mess and been cleaned up.”

“Cuddle time!” Narcissa declared. She held out her arms to the House Elf and Teddy was soon being cooed over by the blonde witch.

Draco excused himself from the table when his mother began pointing Teddy in his direction to prompt the infant to don blonde hair and grey eyes.

“You are as subtle as a rampaging hippogriff,” he grumbled to her as he left the room.

George waved his hands in the air, silently demanding the spell be lifted.

“I like him better this way,” Narcissa mused, “Isn’t that right, Teddy Bear? Silly George pulls funny faces when he can’t talk.”

Teddy gurgled his happiness while George blew Narcissa a kiss.

Hermione watched Teddy bask in the attention with a small smile on her face. Narcissa winked at her and wiggled her eyebrows; clearly communicating that she should plan to start popping out babies as soon as possible.

Hermione shook her head and sipped her tea.  
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco knew that he wouldn’t escape from his Mother’s devious plans for long, so he chose to pour over some of his own. At least his did not involve shoving anyone down the aisle.

A large piece of parchment held a sketch of Malfoy Manor and the surrounding land within the wards. To carry the title of Lord Malfoy one day, he would have to live on the ancestral grounds, yet he had no plans of living in that Manor ever again.

Lucius would never agree to the plan Draco was forming. He hoped that one day he could see the fury in the older wizard’s face when he found out.

Narcissa could stop his plans for a while if she chose; though somehow he doubted she would object to the idea of destroying the Manor and building something new and untainted in its place.

Teddy remained the centre of attention as the group migrated into the living room. For the first-time Draco realized that the house was too small for so many people.

Hermione sat down next to him and studied the parchment with interest.

“The Manor?” she guessed.

“Yep. I want to flatten it and build something new. How about a library twice as large as the one at Hogwarts?” he offered with a smile.

Hermione leaned in so her lips were brushing against his ear, “Are you trying to make me horny?”

Draco barked out a laugh, which earned him more than one strange look.

“Is it working?”

“Maybe.”

“Aren’t you two cute?” George cooed in a sickening tone, “How many children are you planning to have?”

“Shove off,” Draco replied irritably.

“I love that look Hermione gets when someone mentions you two breeding,” George laughed, “I can never tell is she is going to get dewy eyed or breath fire.”

“Probably both,” Ginny offered.

“At the same time,” Potter added.

“Do Veela breathe fire?” Andromeda wondered.

“Not that I know of,” Narcissa mused, “Those ones at the World Cup threw balls of fire, didn’t they?”

Draco let Hermione’s presence push down the annoyance which had flared too close to the surface. He leaned toward her so the scent of her hair could soothe him.

“They are doing it on purpose,” she whispered.

“Do you have a quill?”

Hermione picked up something from the coffee table which she handed to him. Draco regarded the hard object warily.

“That is not a quill.”

“It is called a pen,” Hermione explained, “The ink is already inside.”

Draco muttered appreciatively as he investigated the pen and made a few practise strokes on the corner of the parchment. Hermione still marvelled that something so simple had not been incorporated into the magical world.

“Mother,” George began in an uncanny imitation of Percy, “I moved back in on the condition that Hermione get drunk with me. She barely had a sip on Tuesday, so I propose we get sloshed now.”

Molly was frowning at him before he had finished speaking. Before she could react, Hermione sighed audibly.

“I did agree,” Hermione admitted, “Aren’t Friday’s going to be a get together and relax night anyway?”

“I’ll stay sober the rest of the week if I can let loose on Fridays,” George bargained, “At least when I’m drinking I can bear to say his name.” The final part was muttered with audible misery.

Arthur reached out to grip his son’s shoulder, “Perhaps we should all raise a glass to our beloved Fred.”

Molly was clearly not pleased by the idea, “I reserve the right to supervise this disastrous idea and laugh at the lot of you tomorrow morning.”

“That sounds fair,” Dromeda agreed, “I’m sure Linna, Wixon and Moxie will make sure no-one gets into trouble.”

“I’ll stick to juice,” Molly clarified.

“Well, if you’re pregnant I’d love to be among the first to know,” Narcissa said lightly.

Molly snapped her mouth shut and glanced at Arthur worriedly. Her husband did not appear to be distressed at all.

“As if!” George scoffed, “Mum and Dad are way too old to have more kids.”

Ginny and Ron nodded vigorously. Hermione watched Molly with shrewd eyes. Harry appeared startled by the idea while Draco was clearly distracted by the parchment he was holding.

“We had planned to wait a few more weeks before making the announcement,” Arthur said calmly.

“Really?” Dromeda gushed.

Molly nodded, “I’m about a month along.”

Harry snorted at the reactions he was seeing, “Hey Ron; I guess we know how your parents celebrated the end of the war!”

Ron sagged back against the fabric of the lounge wearing a horrified expression. Ginny clapped a hand over her mouth while George paled terribly.

Draco had to admit that the idea of Mr and Mrs Weasley getting naked was not a pleasant one, yet he retained his composure without too much effort. After all, they were not his parents.

“I offer you my sincere congratulations,” Draco offered politely, “Are you hoping for a boy or a girl?”

“Either would be wonderful,” Molly replied happily.

“This can’t be happening,” Ron muttered.

“What was that Ronald?” Arthur asked in a deceptively pleasant voice.

“You’re too old!” George insisted.

Molly laughed at her children while the House Elves reluctantly produced some bottles of Firewhiskey.

“Clearly you need more lessons in biology,” Arthur mused, “Witches can have babies well into their fifties.”

“You are too old to still be having sex!” Ron cried.

Hermione was blushing as she addressed him, “Ron; wizards can live to be two hundred; most live to be at least one hundred and twenty. Why would you assume the sex drive dies so early?”

“Because it’s disturbing!”

“So is watching you eat when you don’t close your mouth,” Draco pointed out, “Yet, we don’t pretend it doesn’t happen. Grow up.”

Hermione’s hand reached out to land on his and he could feel the tension in her palm and fingers. Without speaking a word, she was warning him about his behaviour and the effect it would have on the redhead.

As if he hadn’t spent years provoking Weasley in anticipation of his short temper.

“Shut your face Malfoy!” came the expected reply.

Narcissa cut the argument off swiftly, “Ronald; do you realize that my son is purposely trying to make you angry?”

Weasley lost momentum and regarded the witch in confusion, “He’s just being Malfoy.”

“I disagree,” Narcissa replied, “He always has a reason behind his actions; no matter how misguided some have been in the past.”

“So, calling Hermione a Mudblood at every opportunity was planned?” Weasley asked with contempt.

“To avoid the Cruciatus curse each summer, I suspect so,” Narcissa confirmed with poise.

“So why are you pissing me off now, Malfoy?” Weasley sneered at Draco.

“To distract you,” Draco replied coldly, “Before you say something more insulting to your mother.”

Molly watched the exchange silently. The dynamic between the two wizards had remained surprisingly cordial for over a week; they were due for a confrontation.

“Why do you care?”

“Why don’t you?”

Narcissa sighed, and the sound carried across the quiet room as she intended. Arthur watched her take command of the teenagers with a raised eyebrow and a frown.

“Ronald; if there is one thing I was able to instil in my son it is a respect for women. He has risked much more than your ire to defend me; it is easy to see him extending this curtesy to your mother too.”

“Plus, I enjoy getting you riled up,” Draco added, “You turn a weird colour.”


	56. Remembering the Dead

“I have a theory!” Hermione announced in a slurred voice a few hours later.

“Not another one,” Weasley groaned.

Draco had discovered that his Veela biology limited the effects of the alcohol on his system. He wore a dopey grin and tolerated the Dim-witted Duo while Hermione slouched against him. When she was sure no-one was watching, she would nuzzle his neck.

“The whole Pureblood versus Half-blood thing is a smokescreen,” Hermione announced in a voice which was slightly too loud, “If a Pureblood and a Half-blood have a kid, what is their blood status?”

Potter took far too long to answer; Draco hoped the alcohol was at fault.

“Half, I think.”

“Exactly!” Hermione laughed, “One whole plus a half, and then averaged should be three-quarters!”

“Not Maths!” Potter groaned.

“Purebloods are terrified of fractions!” Hermione declared, “Instead of three-quarters, seven-eighths, fifteen-sixteenth and so on they round everything down to half. That’s just bad reasoning.”

George took a swig of Firewhiskey from the bottle he refused to share with anyone, “You’re killing me here Herms! How can you be doing Maths when you’re drunk? It’s just not right.”

“Don’t call me Herms,” Hermione complained, “It sounds stupid.”

Narcissa was leaning against her sister heavily enough to undermine the sober act she was trying to live up to, “I’m impressed she got the numbers right.”

Dromeda nodded, “Are you sure they’re correct?”

“Hell, if I know,” Narcissa admitted, “They sounded impressive though.”

Arthur yawned widely, “I’m not as young as I used to be,” he admitted, “I think Teddy has the right idea.”

The infant was sleeping in Linna’s arms; his ears blocked by a gentle _muffliato_ spell. The House Elf alternated between gazing at him adoringly and glaring at the irresponsible adults in the room.

Molly gave stern instructions before retiring to bed with her husband. Narcissa watched them go with curious eyes as her sister toasted the coffee table.

“Why am I included in the lecture as though I was a silly child?” Narcissa wondered aloud.

George grinned, “Well, once you accept my proposal -”

Potter shoved him over before he could finish that sentence.

“And me, too!” Dromeda insisted, “I’m older than you.”

Narcissa sneered at her sister, “You are toasting the furniture, Mrs Tonks. You are clearly not able to be responsible for anyone right now.”

“I ran out of people,” Dromeda explained, “Drinking a toast is better than just guzzling Firewhiskey.”

“A toast!” Draco announced, before looking around wildly for something to raise his glass to.

“To ferrets!” Weaslette laughed.

Draco rolled his eyes but took a gulp of his drink anyway.

“To Dumbledore!” Weasley offered.

Draco nearly choked on his drink, “I’m not toasting that manipulative old goat.”

Weasley was aghast, “Don’t talk about Dumbledore like that!”

“I thought Gryffindors preferred the truth?” Draco shot back.

“He was a hero!”

Draco rolled his eyes, “Maybe; but you can’t deny the manipulative part.”

“And he was certainly old,” Narcissa added.

Weasley tried to cling to the idea that Dumbledore was perfect, even when Potter grudgingly agreed that setting up a handful of First-Years to go after the Philosopher’s Stone was not a good idea. When Hermione pointed out how easily Dumbledore could have gotten Black a retrial based on memories of having seen Pettigrew, Weasley’s protests dropped to incoherent mutterings.

It was scary to see how stubborn the wizard was even in the face of clear evidence.

“Sadly, he must have theorized that the end justified the means,” Dromeda said quietly.

“And he was right,” Hermione agreed, “Leaving Harry to suffer with the Dursley’s and keeping so much information to himself has been cheerfully forgotten now that the war is over.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Weaslette pleaded, “I don’t like hearing about my fiancée being groomed from infancy to be a martyr.”

“Seconded,” Potter muttered.

The silence which settled over the room was stifling. Draco watched Weaslette get an evil glint in her eye before she asked, “When are you two getting married?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Pass. What else do we have to talk about?”

“I miss Professor Snape,” Draco sighed.

Weasley snorted, “I don’t.”

“You never knew the real Severus,” Narcissa offered before an argument could break out, “He was a good man.”

“After seeing the memories, he left, I can’t hate him anymore,” Potter admitted, “Dumbledore was set on making sure I took out Voldemort, but Snape just wanted me to be safe. I wish I had known he was friends with my mum so I could have known more about her, too.”

“I think Dumbledore left him at Hogwarts to make sure you were constantly reminded of your parent’s deaths,” Draco said candidly, “Then he could swoop in and play the good guy.”

“I’m sure we can all agree that Dumbledore made mistakes, and Snape was not the only one to pay for them,” Hermione said diplomatically.

“To Professor Snape,” Dromeda toasted, “May he now have the happiness he was denied in life.”

“Imagine it, Harry,” Weaslette teased, “If your mum had made a different choice, Snape could have been your dad.”

Even Draco laughed at the revulsion Potter couldn’t hide. Narcissa frowned at his reaction.

“I’m sure he would have been a wonderful father,” Narcissa said politely, “Sadly, seeing a miniature version of his childhood bully never put him in a good mood.”

“Who was the same bloke who married the girl he loved,” Potter added, “Malfoy; stay away from Ginny. I don’t want to end up teaching redheaded ferrets.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “As if! I prefer my man to spend most of his day away from his mirror.”

“That is a horrid exaggeration!” Draco protested without malice, “You are much better off with Potter anyway; you need a man who isn’t prettier than you. Sadly, you chose a boy instead.”

“What are you saying about Hermione?” Weasley wondered with a sly grin.

“She is prettier than me, and much prettier than you,” Draco retorted, “Seriously, get Daphne to have her eyes checked.”

“I’d worry about her ears,” Weaslette laughed.

“I try to tune out his babble,” Draco agreed seriously.

Hermione was frowning, “You’re not allowed to call him a ferret, anymore,” she reminded Potter.

“Nope; that was just Ron. I still can.”

Draco wasn’t intimidated by the raven-haired wizard, “I think you will drop the habit soon enough. Who knows when you will need some _advice_.”

Weaslette grinned, “I think he can manage; some things just come naturally.”

Hermione giggled into her drink while Weasley struggled to follow their euphemisms.

“I guess I’ll just have to feel my way through it,” Potter joked.

Weasley made a choking noise as he realized what was being discussed. Draco howled with laughter.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco sat at the kitchen table the next morning over a bowl of cereal. The memory of farewelling his mother the previous evening hung heavily on his mind. She looked so sad knowing she was going to be confined to one house for a year.

He hoped that ‘Firewhiskey Friday’ didn’t developed into an unhealthy addiction by the end of the sentence.

Draco had been hesitant to ask about Abraxas Malfoy, though he had hidden it well. Narcissa could recall a few key facts which drove Hermione’s certainty that he was a descendant of Marcus Black.

Orianna had given birth to a daughter approximately eight months after escaping captivity, whose granddaughter had married back into the direct Malfoy line. Being second cousins had never stopped a pureblood marriage. There was no proof that Marcus had fathered Celeste Malfoy, but the timing was suspicious. As Hermione had pointed out; Orianna would not have been in the right state of mind to climb back into her husband’s bed. Draco refrained from pointing out how little choice the woman would have had.

Either way, his situation could not be helped. He had been worried that Hermione would begin to fear him, only to find her annoyed at his lack of faith in himself. She had announced that if she was still a virgin on New Year’s Day, George would spread rumours that Draco was secretly attracted to men.

Dromeda had choked on her drink at that point and announced it was time to return home.

Draco rarely slept past dawn since the transformation, so he was accustomed to being the first one awake in the mornings. The plodding of tired footsteps from the next room made him curious. He silently tried to guess who was approaching.

The steps were not light, so he suspected a male was approaching. Weasley slept like a corpse and grumbled all the way through the house so Potter was the prime suspect. George was a possibility; though he and Draco had been the last ones to retire for the night, so he was probably still soundly asleep.

Potter blinked sleepily at him before heading toward the kettle. Wixon popped in, greeting him and began listing all the possible choices for breakfast.

Draco smiled at the way the sleepy wizard stared at the elf incredulously, “Don’t you ever sleep?”

Wixon raised one eyebrow in an odd impersonation of Lucius, “Of course I do. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Toast,” Potter managed, “And coffee.”

Wixon nodded, “Yes, sir.”

Draco listened to Wixon grumble about ‘boring wizards’ and their ‘lack of imagination’.

“Dobby was never like that,” Potter mumbled.

“Dobby had to wait on Lucius,” Draco replied, “That would put anyone in a terrible mood.”

“Master Harry; are you sure you don’t want something more elaborate?” Wixon offered as he placed the plate of toast on the table.

“I’m fine; thanks, Wixon.”

Wixon frowned at him before turning his annoyed glare on Draco, “Master Draco; I can offer fruit, toast, bacon and eggs -”

“I’m full,” Draco interrupted, “I promise the moment I am hungry again I will summon you and let you plan lunch.”

Wixon sighed, and even his ears drooped noticeably.

“Did you hear the news from Mr and Mrs Weasley?” Draco asked, knowing nothing got past House Elves, “By this time next year you will have a baby to fuss over.”

Wixon clapped his hands together and his face lit up, “Oh yes! We knew before Mistress Molly did. Moxie is hoping for twins! We have six months of menus prepared already!”

Potter gaped at the elf while his toast dangled in front of him. Clearly he was not a morning person.

“Eat your toast,” Draco instructed, “Haven’t you seen a House Elf excited about a pregnancy before?”

“Actually no. Other than Dobby, I didn’t spend much time with House Elves; not even Winky.”

“I forgot you were raised by Muggles,” Draco admitted, “I always wondered why you had no manners.”

“I have manners,” Potter grumbled.

“I meant wizarding manners; I saw you stumbling around at the Yule Ball. Any heir to a Noble House has dancing lessons from the age of six and you clearly didn’t.”

“Dancing lessons,” Potter grumbled, “I was lucky to have food to eat.”

Draco had heard rumours about Potter being hated by the Muggles he lived with, but nothing specific.   
“They starved you?” Draco asked quietly.

Potter shrugged, “I was the freaky nephew they never wanted. Thank Merlin my Hogwarts letter arrived, or I’d still be sleeping in the cupboard.”

Draco lowered his juice to the table and regarded the wizard worriedly, “A cupboard?”

Draco knew that as late as Fifth Year such information would have been a goldmine to fund months of Potter-centred bullying. As he sat there feeling sorry for the wizard he was glad to realize he was not the arrogant little berk he had been.

Potter nodded, “The cupboard under the stairs. My letter even had that written on it. This is great coffee, Wixon.”

Draco didn’t see the Elf beam at the compliment; he was too busy trying to grasp the thought of the saviour of the wizarding world being stuffed into a cupboard and denied food. Humour seemed to be the best option available to avoid a heart-felt bonding moment.

“So, going to Hogwarts was your way of coming out of the closet?” Draco asked seriously.


	57. Not Bonding

Potter nearly choked on his coffee. Wixon raced over to pat him on the back and begin mopping up the mess.

“You git,” Potter wheezed, “Don’t say crap like that when I’m drinking coffee; it’s a waste. Thanks, Wixon.”

Draco shrugged, “Since when have I tried to spare your feelings?”

“Never I guess. If Daphne hadn’t been so nice I would think it was a Slytherin trait.”

“I was trained by the best,” Draco recalled fondly, “No-one could beat Uncle Sev for sarcasm.”

“’Uncle Sev’,” Potter repeated dubiously, “I would have paid galleons to hear you say that to his face in my hearing.”

“That’s because he had to be the evil bat of the dungeons to keep bloody Gryffindorks in line,” Draco pointed out, “He was quite proud of his safety record in the Potions lab and Longbottom was always trying to destroy it.”

Potter stared at the wall, clearly deep in thought. Draco rarely saw that expression on that face; he wondered if the Boy-Who-Lived was going to strain something.

“I didn’t know much about Professor Snape until after he died,” Potter said quietly, “I wish I had known earlier so I didn’t spend so many years hating him.”

In the month after the Battle the Daily Prophet had run endless articles about the heroic double-agent who had deceived even Voldemort. Draco had collected them and put them in a safe place back at the Manor.

“I miss him quite a lot,” Draco admitted, “Yet, I can see that he didn’t think he had much to live for.”

Potter still looked worried, as though he was about to share some deep secret over the breakfast table. Draco wondered if he needed to make a quick escape. Among Slytherins, pouring out problems over a cup of coffee was not encouraged. Only an idiot would lay out their weaknesses for others to exploit.

“I had a weird dream last night,” Potter admitted.

Draco realized he had left his escape too late; he was trapped with a Gryffindor intent on bonding. He wondered how annoyed Hermione would be if he simply bolted from the room to avoid her friend.

“About Snape. He was in the Afterlife talking to someone.”

“Does Weaslette know about your weird fantasies?” Draco asked seriously.

“Would you shut-up for once in your life?” Potter replied irritably, “I’m trying to tell you that I think it was real.”

“You think you have the Sight now? Your Inner Eye seems to work as well as the outer ones.”

“If I put the memory in the Pensieve, will you at least look at it?”

“Fine; just stop trying to make friends. I am not interested in bonding time,” Draco said, “I’m being tainted by your Gryffindorkness enough already.”

“As if we would ever be friends,” Potter scoffed, “I only tolerate you for Hermione’s sake. Do you want to look at the memory or not?”

“Fine; as long as we are very clear that we are not friends.”

“Completely.”

The Pensieve was easy to retrieve. Once the memories had been shared, Hermione had seen no need to guard it against snooping wizards.

_Severus Snape stood in a large, white room wearing his usual scowl. A beautiful woman glowing with a brilliant light stood before him._

_“Welcome to the Afterlife,” she said cheerfully. Her voice was soothing and yet powerful._

_“Thanks. Can you tell me if Potter managed to defeat the Dark Lord?”_

_“He did. Tom Riddle is truly dead. As a matter-of-fact, his second death is the reason why you are here now.”_

_Snape gestured for the woman to continue her explanation. She appeared amused by his surly nature._

_“He kept himself alive by unnatural means, and so one of his victims has to be returned to life to restore the balance. Do you have any suggestions on who should be given their life back?”_

_“Lily,” he replied without hesitation._

_The woman smiled, “Lily is waiting to be reincarnated as one of Harry’s children; in the meantime, she is quite excited to see you. Anyone else?”_

_Snape frowned as he thought carefully, “Diggory; he was so young. He deserves a second chance.”_

_The woman beamed at him, “Cedric has already returned to the living. He is now known as Teddy Lupin. Can you think of another who sacrificed his happiness, and endured far more than anyone should to defeat Riddle?”_

_“Fred Weasley?” Snape guessed. The way he stretched his fingers out indicated his annoyance._

_“Oh no; Fred has not reached the Afterlife yet; he has his own destiny to follow.”_

_“Lupin?”_

_“He would not be happy without his mate.”_

_“As long as it’s not Sirius Black.”_

_The woman tilted her head, “No Severus; I am speaking of you.”_

_“My life was not enjoyable,” Snape said flatly, “I don’t want to resume it.”_

_“You didn’t live your life; you simply endured it. There is a woman waiting in the mortal realm whose life will be incomplete without you. After you spend some time saying goodbye to Lily, you will be ready to seek a new love.”_

_Snape snorted, “And how am I supposed to find this mystery woman? Knowing my luck, you’re trying to set me up with Umbridge.”_

_“What about your Godson? Draco is going to have a tough time adjusting if you are not there to support him. Are you really going to leave him to the mercy of Potter and his supporters? That mark on his arm makes him a target for everyone grieving the loss of a loved one.”_

_Snape glared at her, “When do I go back?”_

_“Soon. Very soon.”_

Draco fell back onto the carpet heavily. Teddy was the reincarnation of Cedric Diggory? Fred was not in the Afterlife?

“Do you think it was just a dream?” Potter asked hopefully, “Something my crazy sleep-deprived brain made up?”

Draco wished he could say exactly that, yet the images were far too clear to be a dream.

“I think that was a vision,” he admitted.

“Shit. What should I do?”

Draco could feel a tension headache approaching, “Do not tell George about Fred. Just keep the whole thing quiet for now. Put it back in your head.”

Draco was amazed that Potter blinked at him worriedly and then actually followed the instructions. He would not have been more shocked if Lucius had showed up in a tutu while claiming to be Merlin himself.

“What?” Potter asked, “You’re looking at me funny.” He put the Pensieve back in its hiding place.

“You actually listened to me,” Draco replied, “I’m in shock.”

Potter made a dismissive noise, “I was raised in the Muggle world; there is still lots of stuff I don’t know. You were clearly freaked out by that memory so it must be important.”

Draco was not impressed that his emotions had been so obvious that even Potter had noticed, “Visions are incredibly rare. Prophecies are common by comparison.”

“What should I do?”

“Did you get a feeling about what should happen?”

Potter stared at the lounge thoughtfully, “George needs to go to Hogwarts, but at the right time. I’m not sure about anything else.”

“Any idea when ‘the right time’ is?” Draco wondered. He hated prophecies, visions and anything to do with Seers; they were just too vague.

“Molly is planning a party at the castle for my birthday; that seems about right.”

Draco scoffed, “Ah yes; ‘Harry Potter Day’. How delightful.”

“It’s bloody embarrassing,” Potter grumbled.

The stomping arrival of Weasley halted the conversation abruptly. Draco knew falling silent would only look suspicious.

“Do you think there will be balloons with your face on them?” he asked with a smirk.

“I’d pop them all,” Potter threatened.

“Maybe an ice sculpture of you in the middle of the Great Hall?”

“Get stuffed Malfoy.”

“You two seem to be bonding well,” Weasley mumbled as he headed toward the kitchen.

“We are not bonding!” Draco insisted, at the same moment Potter denied the accusation.

Wixon ushered Weasley into the kitchen and began reciting all the options for breakfast. Potter trailed along behind.

Draco wondered how far the leash between them stretched. With Potter following along behind Weaslette all the time it must get confusing for the poor Scarhead.

He had also wondered if the pair were engaged because Weasley was not interested, and his sister was the version of him which liked boys. Hermione had smacked him on the shoulder when he voiced that theory; he had never been brave enough to outline his theory around Weaslette as he preferred his testicles firmly attached to his body.

Draco let Wixon cajole him into drinking some more juice so he could remain in the kitchen and observe how well Potter could keep a secret. He wasn’t hoping for much, so he was pleasantly surprised.

“Tell me more about Daphne,” Weasley said to him.

Draco shrugged, “She’s beautiful and clearly has lousy taste in future husbands. What more do you need to know?”

“Hobbies? Parkinson is her best friend, right? She must be pretty tolerant to put up with pug-face,” Weasley mused.

Draco was mildly irritated at the insulting term; anyone who thought Pansy was irritating had clearly never met her mother.

“Daphne used to talk about breeding Kneazles with Millie, and she loves to read. Her main goal has always been to find a husband and have as many kids as she can; her sister Astoria has the same career in mind.”

Weasley was clearly fishing for something, “Is there anything else you would like to tell me? About Sixth Year perhaps?”

Draco snorted, “Very subtle. We had a thing going for over a year, but it was never serious. We never went all the way so you can continue planning the wedding.”

“What were you doing, then?” Weasley asked with a glare.

Potter was blushing; at least Draco knew the wizard had been listening during their sex-talk the previous weekend.

Draco opted for blunt honesty, “Oral, Weasel-bee. She taught me how to please a woman with my tongue and I returned the favour with knowledge of how to give a fantastic blowjob. Do you want any more details? Diagrams perhaps?”

Watching the redhead lose his temper had always been entertaining. Sadly, other than turning red and screwing up his face in disgust, Weasley controlled his temper.

“Did you have to say that while we’re eating?” Potter asked flatly.

Draco shrugged, “He asked and I’m sure he already got the story out of Daphne.”

“I did. Just checking.”

An owl fluttered over to the perch near the door. It was not carrying the expected Daily Prophet, but a large letter. Potter approached it, only to be chased away by flapping wings and a sharp beak.

The large, brown owl hopped over to Draco and extended his leg regally. He took flight as soon as Draco had the letter in his hands. He did not recognise the careless handwriting on the front.

_Dear Draco,_

_I am glad that you and your mother have avoided Azkaban. I have no doubt that I would have received a life sentence._

_I have spent many nights pondering your situation, and the only solution I have could come up with involves your woman being your mistress while a suitable bride is found for you. Finding a pureblood willing to accept such an arrangement for his daughter may put a sizable dint in one of the Gringotts accounts._

_I will contact you when it is safe._

_Regards_

_Father_

“I will throw him to the Dementors myself!” Draco growled angrily. His voice was oddly distorted as the fury ignited the Veela within.

Harry watched the blonde carefully. He was slowly accepting his annoying presence and sarcastic wit for Hermione’s sake, but he still didn’t consider Malfoy to be one of his favourite people. If the temper tantrum endangered anyone he cared about, there would be trouble.

Ron glanced at the blonde for a moment before shrugging and returning to his food. It was far too early for the dramatics the Slytherin seemed to be surrounded by.

Hermione was woken by the wave of rage emanating from her mate. She glanced over to see Ginny still sleeping soundly before picking up her dressing gown to throw over her nightclothes.

Draco felt her alarm and tried to calm himself as she descended the stairs. He didn’t succeed.

“Arrogant, interfering old bastard!” Draco spat as he paced across the kitchen.


	58. The Daily Prophet 2

Harry watched Hermione rub her eyes as she entered the room. Her hair was a mess and she yawned as she headed toward Draco.

“Why are you so grumpy this morning?” Hermione asked the blonde sleepily.

Harry watched the dangerous Veela relax into a love-struck teenager within seconds of watching her. Had it been anyone but Malfoy, it would have been rather sweet.

“You do that when Gin walks in,” Ron commented.

“Do what?”

“Go all soft,” Ron explained, “Like you’re suddenly part Pygmy Puff.” He fluttered his eyes in a horrid impersonation of a simpering boyfriend.

“Eat your breakfast or I’ll sic your sister onto you,” Harry hissed.

Hermione was reading the letter which had upset Malfoy. Harry was mildly curious, but nothing unmanageable.

“Lucius is an arrogant, domineering bastard,” Hermione said aloud, “We already knew this. Can’t you just ignore him? It’s not like he can arrange a marriage for you while he is a wanted criminal.”

“You can’t have Daphne,” Ron pointed out to the couple, “She’d bite your Daddy in the arse if he tried to push her around.”

“I’ll let her know you’re into that,” Draco replied blandly.

Hermione hustled her boyfriend outside and threw a glare at her friends for good measure.

“He’s still annoying,” Ron decided aloud, “What does she see in him?”

Harry shrugged, “No idea.” He refrained from pointing out that Malfoy had made the exact same comment about Daphne and Ron.

“I wish we could go back to hating him,” Ron mused, “It was much easier. Now he says something, and I don’t know if he is being a prat, trying to be funny or just clueless how insulting he is being.”

“Or all three?” Harry added.

Ron nodded his agreement and returned to his food. Harry watched Draco stomp around angrily while Hermione watched him calmly. He could not hear what they were saying, but he easily recognised her tactic of letting him rant for a while before bringing logic back into the conversation.

“We can narrate,” Ron suggested with a smile. He cleared his throat and put on a snobbish voice, “’My Father sent a mean letter so I’m going to have a temper tantrum!’”

Harry shook his head, “Awful. My ears hurt from hearing that.”

Ron continued in a silly voice which was apparently supposed to be Hermione, “’I know; he is a Big Bad Death Eater with stupid hair; but he is also a wanted criminal. There is nothing he can do to hurt us’.”

Ron put his Malfoy voice back on, “’I’m going to overreact anyway; I’m still in shock that I can’t bellow ‘My Father will hear about this!’ every time someone annoys me’. Wah, wah.”

“You suck at impressions,” Ginny said in lieu of a greeting. She kissed Harry on the forehead and sat down next to him.

Ron shrugged, “We all have our talents.”

“She certainly does,” Harry whispered, with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle at his fiancée. Ginny stuck her tongue out at him.

“I did not hear that,” Ron decided in a neutral tone, “Not a word.”

“Do you want me to say it louder?” Harry offered.

“I would appreciate it if you never said anything ever again,” Ron replied with a fake smile.

“Works for me,” Ginny agreed, “I have better uses for his tongue anyway.”

Harry choked on his coffee again while Ron pushed away his food. Ginny smiled at him mischievously.

“Is there something wrong with your breakfast, Ron?” she wondered innocently.

Wixon trotted over worriedly to begin asking ‘Youngest Mr Weasley’ if he wanted something different to eat.

“No thanks Wixon; all your food is great. My sister has a lousy sense of humour and put me off my food.”

Wixon narrowed his eyes at the offending individual, “If Miss Weasley and Future Mrs Potter isn’t careful I will let her mother put certain potions into her food.”

Ginny gulped, “She’s trying to spike my food with lust-cancelling potions, isn’t she?”

Ears flapped as the elf nodded, “And Mr Potter’s food. So far Moxie and I have been neutralising them.”

“Thank-you, to both you and your mate,” Harry said honestly.

Moxie appeared next to Wixon, “You are very welcome, Mr Potter!” she replied happily, “We want Miss Weasley to have babies as soon as possible!”

George paused at the doorway and blinked at the pair of elves, “Are you pregnant Gin? I hope this is a nightmare.”

“I am NOT pregnant,” Ginny huffed, “We were discussing our mother putting potions in our food.”

“No all the food,” Ron reassured his brother, “Just theirs. Mum doesn’t want grandkids yet.”

“Of course not,” Harry added, “She’s still having babies.”

George groaned, “Don’t remind me! I was hoping that was a nightmare I imagined.”

“Speaking of nightmares,” Ron muttered.

Draco and Hermione had finished their conversation and re-entered the house.

“We were just talking about lust-suppressing potions,” George announced brightly, “We all voted and think you two need a special batch. Unless the lovely Narcissa is already slipping fertility potions into the Firewhiskey.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and ignored him. Draco frowned at George before choosing his words carefully.

“I don’t know if you are just trying to piss me off by flirting with my mother,” he admitted, “Or if you have a creepy crush. Either way; stop it.”

“No threats?” George sounded disappointed, “No ‘My Father will hear about this!’”

“Lucius would hire someone to kill you,” Draco said honestly, “And even if you managed to survive and he was to die; could you really handle me as a step-son?”

“I’ll get back to you on that,” George mused.

The regular owl carrying the Daily Prophet swooped through a window and dropped the paper next to George. It circled the room and left without landing.

“Everyone is in a bad mood this morning,” Hermione noted. She always tried to have some treats ready for the Prophet owl and he usually hung around to eat them.

“He’s always in a rush on a Saturday,” Ginny assured her, “The paper is thicker and heavier, so they take longer to deliver.”

“Do you guys know Hestia Carrow?” George asked suddenly.

“Nope,” Ron replied.

“She was in the Slug Club; I think she’s a couple of years younger than us,” Hermione recalled.

“She has an identical twin, Flora, and they’re both in Slytherin a year behind me,” Ginny supplied, “Why?”

“There is a Betrothal Announcement for her and Marcus Flint,” George said, placing the paper flat on the table.

“He’s about ten years older than her!” Hermione protested, “That’s not right.”

“I bet it’s an arranged marriage,” Ron said thoughtfully, “I’ll ask Daphne if her father was approached; pureblood brides are not as plentiful as they used to be.”

“Flint was always such a brute,” Draco added, “But he is seriously rich now that he inherited all the Burke wealth; his trial was barely even covered in the Prophet.”

“He’s a Death Eater?” Harry asked, “Why would anyone throw a teenage girl at him now?”

“He got a year in Azkaban, and then two years Home Detention,” Draco replied, “Hestia will be seventeen when he gets out, and as soon as she graduates they’ll get married and begin the next generation of inbred purebloods.”

“I wonder what is in store for Flora?” Hermione wondered.

George shook his head, “Probably the first Death Eater who gets out of Azkaban with enough gold in his vaults.”

“How are they related to the Carrows?” Harry asked.

“Their father was the eldest brother,” Ginny supplied, “He died in the First Wizarding War. I heard that he was killed by those two of them for opposing Voldemort. Flora and Hestia avoided them with the rest of us.”

“I’m surprised they weren’t in the Room of Requirement with everyone else,” Hermione said.

Ginny dropped her eyes to the table, “We decided it was a security risk to bring Slytherins in,” she admitted.

“You were right,” Draco agreed, “It would only take one scared First-Year to spill and the Carrows would have killed half of you and tortured the other half.”

“You don’t resent us for not protecting Slytherins?” Ginny asked quietly.

“We couldn’t protect anyone except the Slytherins,” Draco sighed.

Ron was frowning again, “I heard you were on the Torture Squad,” he said to the blonde.

“I was the leader,” Draco admitted, “It took me nearly a month to teach most of them how to fake a _Cruciatus_. Crabbe and Goyle were the only ones really loyal; they both took the Mark about a week before the Battle.”

“Those two goons were assigned to punish the Sixth and Seventh Years,” Ginny revealed, “I know they were your friends, but I’m glad Crabbe is dead and Goyle is in Azkaban.”

Draco nodded, “I don’t think they were really friends; just followers.” He would always regret losing Crabbe; not to death but to the rubbish spewed by Death Eaters. He wondered if Goyle could be reasoned with or if he was too far gone.

“They _enjoyed_ torturing people,” Ginny spat, “Like the Carrows. At least you and the others looked sick when you had to do it.”

Ron met Harry’s glance and was clearly as uncomfortable as the raven-haired wizard. George found himself craving some more alcohol to numb everything.

“I was sick after each session,” Draco agreed, “I lost a heap of weight even before I was pulled from school and stuck in the Manor.”

Hermione reached out to hold his hand, “You did what you could; imagine if all the curses were real? Would your friends be able to live with the guilt?”

Draco shrugged, “I’ve been shocked too many times to make predictions now.”

George was looking at the Prophet again, “At least Flint got his teeth fixed; that gold is good for something.”

The picture showed Flint in cuffs grimacing at the camera. His teeth were just visible when he moved. The photo of Hestia showed her smiling into the camera. Her plain features did not hint at her opinion of her betrothal.

“I have only spoken to them in passing a couple of times,” Ginny said with a frown, “I’m not sure if I should congratulate her, or offer my condolences.”

“I hope she is a total shrew and keeps Flint in line by yelling at him; that would be bloody hilarious,” Ron laughed.

“I’ll let Daphne know of your preference,” Draco drawled.

“Hey!” Ron protested, “I’m not a brute or engaged to an underage girl who is also my distant cousin. Daphne doesn’t seem like the yelling type anyway.”

“She’s not,” Draco agreed, “She’s more likely to dye all your clothes green or something.”

George chuckled, “She just needs to use those big blue eyes,” he fluttered his eyes and looked rather ridiculous, “And Ronnikins would give her anything she wanted.”

“I think you’re jealous, George,” Hermione said with a smile, “Should we look around for a nice Slytherin girl to push in your direction? I understand you’re not Millie’s type; maybe Parkinson?”

George rolled his eyes, “As if I would betray my beloved Narcissa.”

Draco’s first thought involved offering to send George to join his twin in the Afterlife. Then he remembered the dream Potter had shown him, and how fast Hermione could be with a wand.

“Keep dreaming,” he said instead.

“Why do you keep ignoring Angelina?” Ron asked with typical Gryffindor tact.

Weaslette nodded, “Lee said she is not being tactful; you can’t play dumb forever.”

“You’re assuming it’s an act,” Draco pointed out.

George waved a hand as though dismissing their conversation, “Ron, how do you know you’re not related to Daphne? You’re both purebloods so, chances are, she is your distant cousin too.”

Ron’s mouth dropped open, “Shit.”

“Stop teasing him George!” Hermione protested, “If they don’t know how they are related, I doubt it is close enough to matter. Ask your parents if you’re worried.”

“You ruin all my fun, Hermione,” George sighed.

“Your mother is right; you need a babysitter.”


	59. Spinner’s End

Draco hadn’t been to Spinner’s End in years. It was boring and full of Potions books; and certainly not worth the worry in Potter’s expression.

“Are you alright Harry?” Weasley asked.

“I promise Snape didn’t set booby traps for annoying Gryffindors intent on trespassing,” Draco offered with a snort.

“It’s not that,” Potter was frowning in the direction of the stairs, “Ginny was giggling with Hermione.”

“So?” Weasley prompted.

“They were looking at me funny.”

“Are you really that thick?” Draco sneered, though it lacked the viciousness of his past, “They’re going to have a Girl Talk.”

Both boys blinked at him without comprehension. Draco quashed the impulse to hit them over the back of the head to see if their skulls were empty.

“Sex details,” he clarified, “Are you two even capable of thinking without Hermione around to supplement your brains?”

Potter turned bright red, “Details?”

Weasley curled his lip in disgust, “Sorry I asked.”

“Ginny wants to squeal over her ‘experience’ and Hermione can’t avoid it anymore,” Draco clarified, “Girls have this weird habit of oversharing.”

Potter looked ill. Even Weasley was watching his friend with concern.

“Calm down Potter,” Draco advised dismissively, “Be happy that she has something to share; if she doesn’t want to talk about it to anyone, then you’re in trouble.”

“It’s disconcerting that she is giggling about it,” Potter muttered.

“Weasley, do you need to check a thesaurus to look up ‘disconcerting’?” Draco drawled.

“Shove off Malfoy or I’ll tell Hermione that you’re being mean to Harry,” Weasley threatened.

“I’m reassuring him, you twit!” Draco protested.

“You’re lucky I don’t have my wand out already Malfoy!” Weasley spat.

“You’d better be talking about the one you bought at Ollivander’s!”

The outburst of laughter from the kitchen startled all three of them. George staggered into the doorway, clutching his stomach and struggling to breathe.

“You lot are bloody hilarious!” George gasped, “Are you like this all the time? Bahahahahahaha!”

Arthur stepped around his son, still grinning widely, “Let’s head off before wands come out,” he suggested, “No matter where they were acquired.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione had faced trolls, ridden on a dragon and fought against Death Eaters who wanted to kill her simply for existing. Her courage had never wavered until she sat on her bed in the Burrow and watched Ginny lock and silence the door with a grin.

“Really?” Ginny squealed, “I know it’s weird but who else and I going to talk to?”

“Yes,” Hermione replied heavily, “I will try not to associate your boyfriend with the wizard I consider to be a brother.”

“Thanks,” Ginny said while rolling her eyes, “Would you like to share your experiences with Draco to ease the tension?”

Hermione knew she was blushing, “It’s only been a week,” she said shyly, “We’ve snogged a few times.”

“Any wandering hands yet?” Ginny wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

“He’s too much of a gentleman, I suspect.”

Ginny wrinkled her nose, “Well next time you’re snogging, grab his butt for a good squeeze.”

Hermione had to admit, she had been tempted by that very thought more than once while they had been making out. She still wasn’t sold on the idea of hearing intimate details about Harry though.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to Spinner’s End with the guys?” Hermione asked.

Ginny rolled her eyes, “You are so transparent; is the thought of me and Harry getting busy really that scary? It’s not like I’m going to pull out pictures or anything.”

“Thank Merlin for that!”

“You probably saw a lot when you guys were living in a tent anyway,” Ginny added dismissively.

“He kept his pants on around me or I would have thrown a stinging hex right where it would hurt the most!” Hermione huffed.

Ginny stretched out on her bed and giggled into her pillow, “Well, I wasn’t thinking about hexing it!”

“Do not give me details; I really don’t want to know.”

“Don’t worry; I wouldn’t compromise his trust like that. Boys are seriously insecure about their bodies. I just don’t get why.”

Hermione hadn’t really thought about it; one thing Draco didn’t lack was self-confidence in that area.

“It’s just one more area they can compete in,” Hermione mused, “Do wizards have pornography? I understand in the Muggle world stupid boys seem to think the men in those videos are average-sized rather than ridiculously large.”

Ginny was giggling again, “It is so weird to hear you talk about sex!”

“You’d be amazed at some of the books I have read,” Hermione replied smugly.

“Do you still have said books?”

Hermione knew she was bright red as she explained about Muggle books and how surprisingly graphic some educational books could be.

“And don’t get me started on fictional romance books!” she added, “Some of the stuff they describe has to be physically impossible and just stupid.”

“Like what?”

Hermione shook her head, “I’ll buy you one for your birthday.”

“Dromeda slipped me a book,” Ginny admitted, “It did help. Some of the girls in my dorm would go on about blood and heaps of pain but it wasn’t that bad. A bit uncomfortable, but no blood.”

“Everyone is different,” Hermione mused, “You would not believe the ‘talk’ my mum gave me when I was fourteen.”

Ginny grinned, “It can’t be worse than the one I got; my mum conjured a fake willy with annotations.”

Hermione choked on her laughter, “I can so see Molly doing that!”

Ginny nodded, “Then there was the big spiel on contraceptive charms versus potions; she also offered to buy Veritaserum to make sure any boy trying to get me into bed was really considering marriage.”

“Wow, that’s heavy. I was embarrassed enough when I got the ‘it’s okay to masturbate’ lecture.”

Ginny gaped at her friend, “We so need to discuss that!”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ron looked around the plain, Muggle house with a mounting sense of disappointment.

“I was sure he’d have chains hanging from the walls and a coffin in the bedroom,” he sighed.

“Or blood in the fridge,” Harry agreed.

Draco snorted at their idiocy, “He wasn’t a Vampire, a bat or anything else weird.”

Harry and Ron shared a disbelieving glance.

George grinned at them from across the room, “Don’t worry kiddies, I bet his species wasn’t properly classified yet.”

Arthur was too busy investigating the microwave to listen to the silly bickering. He didn’t even realize he was muttering to himself until Harry came over to explain how the contraption worked.

Draco admitted to himself that Muggles were not as backward and boring as he had been raised to believe. He did not understand why Arthur was so fascinated though; magic was so much more convenient.

The house was boring really; other than the Potions lab in the spare room there was hardly any evidence that it belonged to a wizard.

Draco had always suspected that Severus was too devoted to his job and before him was the proof. No wife, no children and as far as he could tell, no friends. He hoped that the vision Potter had seen was true so his godfather could have a second chance to actually live.

Weasley was investigating a shelf of potions ingredients. They were clearly labelled and even Draco had to admit, some were rather gross.

“You know, it says ‘slug innards’ but could easily be parts of students who annoyed him,” Weasley mused.

“It would explain why you eat so much,” Draco pondered aloud, “If part of your guts were being magically removed to go into potions.”

George stretched out on a dilapidated but very comfortable lounge, “I think your brains are safe Ronnikins,” he announced, “You don’t have enough to lose.”

“You’re thinking of yourself there, Georgie,” Weasley replied.

“We’ll have to ask Gin if Harry can afford to donate anything from his trousers,” George mused.

Draco snorted a laugh as Potter turned to glare at the redhead who had questioned his masculinity.

“She doesn’t have anything to compare him to though, does she?” Draco wondered.

George shrugged, “If anyone is devious enough to spy on the boy’s bathroom, it would be our Ginny,” he pretended to wipe a tear away from one eye, “She makes me so proud.”

Arthur deliberately chose to ignore the conversation for the sake of his own mental health.

“How about we look around the yard?” he suggested, “Whether you decide to develop or sell, the wards might need reinforcing.”

Draco nodded and followed Arthur outside. The lawn was a mess, the garden looked like a jungle and yet the fence was still rather sturdy.

Draco spotted a ‘For Sale’ sign in the neighbouring house and wondered how many people in the sad little street would consider selling. His plans were pushed aside as he returned his attention to Arthur.

“The wards are very strong,” the older wizard mused, “Considering his line of work; I am not surprised that Severus made sure this place was extremely well-protected.”

Draco didn’t reply to the vague mention of his godfather’s role as a spy. He didn’t know half of what Severus had suffered and suspected the rest of those on the winning side knew even less. Funnily enough, if the Daily Prophet kept digging it was going to uncover more than he knew and make Severus a legend rather than a hero.

Draco smiled at the thought of Severus sneering at the paper and demanding they wake up, use their brains and try thinking for themselves. The Order of Merlin being mentioned would be even worse; he could see his godfather telling the Minister himself to shove it somewhere unpleasant.

George, Potter and Weasley were still poking around looking for evidence that Snape was some sort of creature. Draco ignored them and sought out Advanced Potion Making Level 7. Once he confirmed it was full of Snape’s hand-drawn notes (and a copy of the one he had in his school trunk) he turned to Potter with a smirk.

“Here you go Potter,” he held out the book toward the raven-haired wizard, “As long as you hold onto this, you might be able to pass Potions without Hermione doing your homework.”’

Potter rolled his eyes but took the book, “Gee, thanks Malfoy.”

Weasley frowned, “Where’s my copy?”

“You can share with Potter,” Draco replied with a wave of his hand, “But if I find ‘Courting for Dummies’, you get it for Christmas.”

Instead of the immature, angry reaction Draco expected, Weasley remained calm. It was almost a disappointment.

“Malfoy, if you find ‘An Advanced Guide to being a Death Eater’, make sure you keep it,” Weasley said smugly.

“I did suck at that,” Draco agreed, “I’m glad I dropped it.”

“Daphne doesn’t think I’m rubbish at courting,” Weasley pointed out to the blonde.

“Potential suitors have been sniffing around the Greengrass sisters since Daphne hit puberty,” Draco mused, “She might think your oafish approach is rather refreshing.”

George grinned conspiratorially at Draco, “You know Ron, if you decide things aren’t working out with the beautiful Daphne you could always buy her a puppy.”

“That could work,” Draco agreed, “A big, dopey breed with huge eyes who would follow her around drooling in awe.”

“She wouldn’t even know you had left!” George laughed.

“Is that how you dealt with Angelina?” Weasley asked easily, “Did you find a dog which randomly chases its tail and chews on its butt to replace you?”

“What would Ginny need to replace me?” Potter wondered.

Draco considered his childhood nemesis thoughtfully, “A scruffy, black mongrel with no sense of direction; it would match the way you wandered off and got into trouble all the time.”

“Mongrel?” Potter challenged, “You’re not getting back into Blood Status territory I hope?”

“Nope; just trying to think of a breed with crazy hair like yours. The only other option would be a poodle with black fur, but they look groomed most of the time,” Draco clarified.

“We could take you to the vet for a clip?” George suggested, “Do you need a flea treatment while we’re there?”

Arthur interrupted their deeply philosophical conversation to herd them back to the Burrow via the fireplace.


	60. Nosey

Out of respect for Molly, Draco and Hermione had chosen to spend their time together in the shed. Either of them could have broken the wards but they had agreed it would be rude to do so.

Also, Weaslette had threatened to do unspeakable things if they desecrated her bedroom.

The morning post included a handful of letters for the returning Eighth-Year students.

_Dear Mr Malfoy,_

_Due to the uncommon circumstances surrounding your return to Hogwarts, the Board of Governors has approved a program to train selected individuals for future jobs teaching at Hogwarts. Though there is no expectation that students will begin teaching right away, the option to teach later in life is not one offered to everyone._

_You have been offered a Potions Teaching Internship under the guidance of Professor Slughorn. Each current Professor can choose a maximum of three students to take on. If you are interested, please fill in the enclosed acceptance slip and send it asap._

_I look forward to your return on Sunday the 12 th of July. Bring your trunk to the Three Broomsticks and I will be there at 5pm to escort you to the castle._

_Regards_

_Professor Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts_

Draco almost laughed aloud at the thought of teaching; there would be so many Howlers from angry parents he would be buried in them. Who wanted a former Death Eater in charge of their children?

Of course, Severus had been a very successful teacher. The opportunity was quite unexpected.

“How am I supposed to choose?” Hermione moaned.

Draco dropped his letter onto the table and leaned over to read hers. She had been offered the choice of Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy or Ancient Runes.

“There are not many Transfiguration Masters in Britain,” Draco recalled, “McGonagall is the only one still active I believe. Have you ever wanted to become an Animagus?”

Hermione had her lip pressed between her teeth as she considered the idea.

“I did start with the mandrake leaf over the holidays after Fifth Year,” Hermione admitted, “I haven’t made much progress on the meditating though.”

“There you go Harry!” Weasley was saying, “All that work in the DA has paid off; they want to hire you!”

Potter was considering his letter thoughtfully, “I always wanted to be an Auror, but now that Voldemort is dead the thought of chasing dark wizards is not appealing.”

“You’d be a walking target,” George agreed, “You should join me at the shop. I keep trying to convince Ronnikins to become my partner.”

“I might just take you up on that offer George,” Weasley replied, “I’ve had my fill of dark wizards and dodging curses. I’ve been offered Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid, which should be fun.”

Hermione picked up Draco’s letter and scanned it, “Do you get along with Slughorn?”

Draco shrugged, “He’s alright. Not as good as Uncle Sev, but he was the best.”

“Another grumpy Slytherin in the Potions classroom,” Potter said while shaking his head, “How will the poor students cope?”

“They will remain alive,” Draco replied dismissively, “If they’re scared of the Professor, they are less likely to stuff around and blow themselves up.”  
“That never stopped you, or the rest of the Slytherins,” Weasley snorted.

“Uncle Sev had to favour us so our parents thought he was on their side. He fooled them all.”

Truthfully, Draco was quite proud of everything Severus had accomplished. He had always admired his godfather but knowing he had kept Voldemort in the dark for years was simply amazing. Draco kept wondering what could have happened if he had asked Uncle Sev for help escaping when the bastard had returned, or when he moved into Malfoy Manor.

Seeing Lucius bowing and scraping at the feet of the Snake-Eyed Bastard had driven the final nail into the coffin of Draco’s respect for the man. Years of being taught that being a Malfoy made them somehow better than their peers came into direct conflict with the submissive behaviour. In that moment Draco doubted everything his father had ever said, and that doubt continued every time he heard Lucius speak.

The whole idea of Blood Purity had always been annoying; Draco had ignored the niggling inconsistencies with stubborn determination for far too long. When he had spent significant time with Crabbe and Goyle he was sure that there was something missing within the ideas Lucius supported. If those two were superior, the entire magical world was heading down the toilet.

Hermione had been a clear indication that Blood Status wasn’t important in making a powerful witch or wizard. Draco hadn’t been brave, or stupid enough to point that out to Lucius though.

“It’s weird knowing about Snape now,” Potter admitted, “He was always such a prat in class, yet he never let me down. I wish I had at least thanked him.”

Weasley was clearly uncomfortable with the sentiment, “Good luck with that, mate. Imagine the reply; ‘Stop this silliness Potter! Ten points from Gryffindor for being a dunderhead!’ He’d take points for not killing Voldemort sooner.”

“That’s an awful Snape impersonation,” George decided, “The voice needs to portray the desire to grind you up into potions ingredients.”

“I didn’t find any in his house,” Potter mused, “Though if you’re going to use annoying students as potions ingredients, I doubt they’d be labelled accurately.”

Draco was imagining ingredients lined up neatly with false labels to terrify students not paying attention, “Crushed student livers, powdered Gryffindor bones, shredded Ravenclaw brains. How fun would it be to have those labels sitting on the shelf?”

“You are sick,” George decided, “You’ll do great as a Potions Professor. Add a plate at the front of the room marked ‘free food’ and I’ll make sure you have plenty of Canary Creams to give away.”

“I’m sure that will help keep order,” Draco scoffed while rolling his eyes.

“I hope Bill gets the Defence job this year,” Potter said thoughtfully, “If there is a curse, he’d have the best chance of breaking it.”

“He’d be great,” Weasley agreed.

Draco bit back a comment about the youngest Weasley brother drooling over Fleur all year, knowing Hermione would be cranky.

The desire not to irritate his mate was growing stronger for some reason. While the conversation continued, Draco leaned into her hair. She always smelled nice, yet in the past hour it had deepened into pure ambrosia.

“Malfoy, what are you doing?” Weasley asked in a worried tone.

The snide comment that the redhead should mind his own business flared to life and then was quickly forgotten. The others were irrelevant when his mate smelled so damn good.

“Are you smelling her hair?” George asked hesitantly, “That’s kind of creepy.”

More people entered the room, though Draco didn’t recognise them as Arthur and Molly right away. He was more concerned with the trail of goosebumps appearing as he ran the tip of his nose along his mate’s neck.

“Draco? You’re acting weird,” Hermione pointed out. She leaned away from him and caught his chin in her hand.

“Mum, Malfoy is acting really strange,” George complained, “Can I start testing out new products on him?”

“Your eyes are dilated,” Hermione said to Draco worriedly. She pressed the back of her hand against his forehead to check for a fever.

“I am perfectly healthy,” Draco purred. His hand settled on her knee and slid upwards suggestively.

“There is something wrong,” Hermione insisted quietly.

“I’ll floo Bill and Fleur to come over early,” Molly decided.

“I’ll do it, dear,” Arthur offered.

Hermione clamped both hands on Draco’s fingers to stop them creeping past where she was comfortable. He was still wearing a dopey expression and smiling at her without comprehension.

“Want me to stun him?” George offered, “I’ve always wanted to hit him right between the eyes with one.”

“That won’t be necessary George,” Molly chided, “If Draco needs to be stunned, Hermione can do it.”

He was sniffing her hair again. While his hands remained still, Hermione was content to watch him carefully while they waited for Bill and Fleur to arrive.

“I wonder if Fleur goes silly like that,” Potter mused, “Maybe it’s not a Veela thing; Malfoy could just be crazy.”

“And horny,” Draco whispered into her ear.

“She’s blushing!” George laughed, “What did you say Malfoy? After living with these two dorks in a tent for months, not much makes Miss Granger blush anymore!”

Ginny yawned as she wandered into the kitchen, “He’s probably suggesting baby names,” she replied to her brother, “Ferrets have lots of kids.”

“You have something in your hair, Hermione,” Potter said with a straight face, “It’s blonde and looks annoying. Maybe they have shampoo for that?”

Arthur returned to the kitchen, greeted by the laughter of the teenagers seated around the table. Only Draco remained quiet, his focus fixed on his mate.

“Bill and Fleur will arrive shortly,” Arthur reassured Hermione.

“You’re looking unsettled, Dad,” George teased, “Did you interrupt Bill and Fleur _doing_ something interesting?”

Ginny wrinkled her nose, “Quit that; I’m about to eat!”

Draco wasn’t bothered by the conversation swirling around him. Words were meaningless while his mate was so close. For the first time in years he was sure his life was going to be enjoyable.

Until the whiff of werewolf invaded his nostrils.

Bill could smell the tang of Veela in the air the moment he stepped out of the fireplace. It was not a direct threat, but a clear warning that a potentially dangerous creature lurked in the vicinity.

Fleur had spent the week obsessively researching everything she could about male Veelas; and had come up with very little. She despised having to rely on rumours or second-hand accounts describing vague events from centuries ago.

The greetings Bill exchanged with the family were subdued. Draco glanced at him silently before returning his attention to Hermione.

The adoring, slightly dazed expression he wore reminded Bill of Fleur when she was determined to drag him into the bedroom for a few hours. It was disturbing to see it echoed on the male face.

“Malfoy is being creepy,” Ron announced with his usual tact.

“So polite,” Ginny sighed.

Bill watched the pair of House Elves shoo his mother away from the sink and press a plateful of food into her hands. It was admirable that anyone could boss Molly Weasley around in her own kitchen, let alone creatures who were only a metre tall.

“Hermione,” Bill said quietly, “Smile at me.”

Harry and Ginny were not the only ones who appeared confused. George twirled his index finger next to his temple to demonstrate his opinion of his eldest brother.

Hermione smiled at him, though it was clearly forced.

The reaction was immediate and alarming. Draco snapped his head to the side to glare at Bill with an angry hiss. One hand flexed in front of his torso, the claws lengthening rapidly.

Harry and Ron had their wands out and pointed at the Slytherin before anyone else reacted. Hermione pressed one hand against her mates’ shoulder and regarded him coolly.

“Calm down, Draco,” Hermione said in an emotionless tone, “Bill is no threat.”

Draco tore his attention away from the newcomer and regarded her worriedly.

“You sound like a bloody cat,” George pointed out, with no sense at all, “Do you hock up hairballs too?”

“Not the time George,” Arthur admonished his son in a firm voice. He did not look away from Draco as he spoke.

Bill suspected he knew what had changed; and it did not bode well for the future.

“Hermione, take Draco’s hand and walk over here please,” Bill instructed, “Keep your body between the two of us if you can.”

Harry and Ron kept their wands trained on the blonde as Hermione pushed her chair back and led her mate across the room.

“Stop there,” Bill waited until she was a metre away before halting her progress. He leaned forward to smell the air.

“Um, Hermione, I think I know what’s wrong,” Bill admitted.

All eyes were fixed on the eldest Weasley brother. He was clearly reluctant to voice his opinion.

“It’s your, um, cycle. I think you’ve just started ovulating.”

Her jaw dropped, “He knows _that_?”

Bill nodded, “Draco can smell it; Veelas know the optimum time to fall pregnant so it makes sense that he can tell when you’d be most receptive.”

Ginny pressed a hand to her mouth to hide her giggles. Harry and Ron were torn between revulsion and amusement.

George grinned wolfishly, “Hermione; you’re in heat!”


	61. Empathy

Hermione whipped out her wand and shot a Silencing spell at George a moment before the Stinging hex from Molly hit his neck. His cry of annoyance was devoid of sound.

“What should I do?” Hermione asked Bill worriedly.

George began waving his arms around wildly. Harry considered ending the spell but a sharp shake of the head from Ginny stopped him.

“Give him a Calming Draught?” Molly suggested.

Bill nodded, “It’s a start. It, um, works for Fleur anyway.”

“How do I make him drink it?”

“I’m right here,” Draco said calmly.

“Will you drink the potion if I ask you to?” Hermione asked him directly.

He tilted his head as though the question confused him, “If it makes you happy.”

“It would.”

“Nothing to worry about,” Ginny decided, “The woman who rode a dragon out of Gringotts tames the ferret easily enough. Thank-you for the tea, Wixon.”

Wixon beamed as more thanks were offered for the beverage. Hermione took Draco by the arm and led him into the living room. He seemed happy enough to cooperate while she remained in physical contact and didn’t smile at other males.

Fleur arrived while Bill let Wixon badger him into eating a second breakfast.

“Hi Fleur,” Hermione offered to the blonde, “Sorry to interrupt your morning.”

“No problem,” Fleur replied easily, “How are the two of you coping?”

Hermione knew her cheeks were still slightly red, “Um, Draco had been really clingy, and Bill said it’s because I’m ovulating.”

Alarm crossed Fleur’s features before she trained her eyes on Draco.

“It’s embarrassing that he can sense _that_ ,” Hermione muttered.

“Draco; what are your instincts telling you to do?” Fleur asked directly.

Draco smiled at Hermione dreamily, “Stay with my mate; keep other males from her.”

“What about getting her pregnant?”

The crease between his brows was encouraging, “She’s not ready,” he said calmly, “I just have to keep the other males away.”

Fleur relaxed. The drive to mate was strong; she was relieved that he was not struggling with control at such an early stage.

“None of the males here are interested in me, except you,” Hermione reassured him.

Draco regarded her doubtfully.

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Lunch was an odd affair. Hermione sat with Draco on one side and Ginny on the other so the Veela would remain calm long enough to eat.

One by one, the rest of the Weasley family filtered in through the fireplace. Percy greeted family and friends politely and Molly drew him into conversation before he realized that Draco had neither noticed nor reacted to his arrival

Charlie was not so easy to distract. He studied the blonde across the table until Bill leaned toward him and muttered, “Apparently, it’s mating season for Hermione, if only she was willing.”

Fleur silenced her husband with a glare.

“I know some species of dragons like that,” Charlie mused, “The male Norwegian Ridgeback will chew its own feet off if it can smell a female in heat but can’t find her. Are you like that? You’d need special shoes.”

Draco rolled his eyes at him, “Do not compare me to giant lizards.”

“What about little ones?” George asked innocently.

“Who took the silencing spell off you?” Hermione asked with fake annoyance.

George pretended not to hear her, “Make sure you keep him in a warm tank, so he doesn’t go into hibernation.”

“You need a muzzle,” Draco decided.

George winked at him, “Kinky.”

Draco was having trouble concentrating on the flow of conversation, which was disorienting. He wondered if it was going to have such a short attention span a week out of every month for the rest of his life.

Molly sent Moxie to fetch a dose of Calming Draught for Draco to have with lunch. He accepted it doubtfully and glanced at his mate.

Hermione wasn’t too worried about the change in Draco’s behaviour; he was still as overly attentive as he had been since his birthday. At least his lack of focus had decreased the number of insults flying at her friends. She nodded at the potion and silently encouraged him to drink it. He acquiesced with a shrug.

Bill was teasing Ron about his new girlfriend, while Charlie listened with a grin. Even Arthur noted that Daphne was a lovely young woman. Ron was blushing, though Hermione could tell he was rather proud that he could call the beautiful Slytherin his girlfriend.

“I guess the Weasley sons have a thing for gorgeous blondes,” Bill said with an adoring glance at Fleur. She leaned forward to kiss his nose.

“Are you looking forward to returning to Hogwarts?” Percy asked Hermione.

“I am; finally, we can have a year without all the stress of Voldemort causing trouble,” she agreed.

“Though we might not recognise the place without danger lurking around,” Ron mused, “Maybe there’s a former Death Eater hiding in the castle in Animagus form we need to find this year.”

“There are still a few stray Death Eaters out there,” Percy reminded her, “Hopefully Hogwarts will be safe, but you can never be too sure. The Prophet has cited you as one of the key players in killing Voldemort.”

“Which is surprising,” Harry added, “The Prophet actually getting something right for a change.”

Ron huffed a laugh at the comment, “I thought they’d claim Voldy was killed by tripping on a banana peel and cracking his head on a unicorn horn.”

“Or sneezed his brain through his nose during a dust storm,” Harry laughed.

After everyone had eaten their fill and firmly declined Wixon and Moxie pressing more food on them, the gathering moved to sit outside in the sunshine.

Molly waited until everyone was settled before standing up to draw their attention. Arthur sat next to her wearing a contented smile.

“Bill, Fleur, Charlie and Percy,” Molly began, “Your father and I have some news. It was accidently revealed a couple of nights ago, so we apologize that you were left out of the loop.”

Bill and Fleur shared a glance before returning their attention to Molly. Percy displayed his impeccable manners by keeping his eyes riveted on his mother.

“You’re adopting Malfoy?” Charlie guessed, “Or just his mum?”

Molly ignored her second son easily, “We’re having another baby.”

Percy gulped before offering his congratulations in a deceptively calm tone. Charlie laughed loudly before agreeing with the sentiment.

“How wonderful,” Fleur decided, her accent slightly thicker than usual, “Next year will be very busy; you are becoming grandparents too.”

Bill grinned at the stunned expressions his family wore. Molly shrieked in delight and threw her arms around the couple.

Draco offered the polite words expected of him, even though he was rather uncomfortable with the explosion of emotions he was observing.

Having a big family was exhausting.

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Draco wanted to retreat to the room he had been allocated, yet he couldn’t force himself to move that far from Hermione. After a few annoyed, and rather rude words to himself he sat on the lounge sullenly.

While he was lamenting his lack of his free will, he could faintly hear the discussion occurring outside. Baby names were being suggested with frightening speed.

“Don’t name it Fred,” George ordered sharply.

The sudden silence was worrying. The door was wrenched open and George stomped through the house without a word.

The predictable whispers regarding the state of mind of the mourning twin were not at all helpful. He remembered the silent directive his mother had communicated to him on Friday evening; she expected him to make some sort of effort to help George through the pain.

As if he knew anything about making someone feel better about their twin being dead.

As he had a goal in mind, he could resist the pull toward Hermione long enough to climb the stairs up to the room George had retreated to.

The door was ajar, but he knocked anyway.

“Go away,” George grumbled from inside the room.

Draco pushed the door open but remained at the threshold.

“When I stormed off to my room in a fit of grief because my grandfather died, I wanted someone to follow and make sure I was alright. It would have been nice to have a confirmation that someone cared,” Draco said casually, “I can leave if you really want me to.”

“Whatever.”

Draco took that as a very flimsy invitation to stay. He left the door open and sat down on the unoccupied bed. Even though the space on the wall indicated a mirror had been removed, the extra bed remained as a clear reminder of Fred’s absence.

George rolled over on the bed to watch the wizard he had known for years with suspicion, “When did you become an expert with emotions?”

Draco chose to ignore the sarcasm in the tone of the grieving redhead. After years of being a right berk to the whole family, it wasn’t hard to recognise how important manners were.

“Whenever I was unsure of something, I would hear Lucius saying something pompous to guide me,” Draco said simply, “Now I hear Hermione giving her opinion, very clearly and with a dire warning in her tone. Sometimes I wonder if she cast a spell on me with just that intent.”

George almost smiled; there was a distinct twitch, “If anyone would do it, it would be her.”

“I prefer to think I am finally developing a sense of empathy, though,” Draco said honestly, “Otherwise, it’s just the Black family madness setting in early.”

“I hear his voice all the time,” George admitted softly, still avoiding the name after saying it to his family, “I’ll be sitting in the kitchen and Ron says something silly and I can hear the first half of a joke in my head. He always waits for me to finish it.”

“Well, you are descended from the Blacks too,” Draco mused, “That type of nutty doesn’t go away too easily.”

“Did Bellatrix have sane moments, or was she always a raving lunatic?”

Barely suppressed memories and awful images flashed into Draco’s mind. He struggled to push them away and calm the anxiety they had unleashed.

“I think she was Aunt Bella for about an hour each day,” Draco recalled, “Usually late at night when she was tired. I’d rather be thrown into a dragon’s den with a steak tied to my dick than deal with her first thing in the morning, that’s for sure.”

George laughed at that awful image, “I’ll save that for your bachelor party.”

“As if I’d let you plan it.”

“Whoever you ask is going to get my assistance anyway,” George replied smugly, “Did you know that Muggle bachelor parties often involve strippers?”

“Stripping what?”

As George explained the concept of muggle women taking their clothes off for money, Draco realized that his disdain for muggles had been completely misplaced.

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“I think Draco is upstairs speaking to George,” Hermione said finally. She had tried to dissuade Ron from seeking out his brother without revealing her reasoning, but he was a stubborn as ever.

Ron frowned. He was trying really hard not to be jealous of the way Malfoy had swooped in, swept Hermione off her feet and ingratiated himself into the family.

Really, really hard.

Setting him up with Daphne had earned the blonde some serious leeway; Ron was already imagining marriage and a swarm of kids with her smile. Unfortunately, the memory of the nasty little snot he had been for so long kept popping up.

“Well, no-one has been launched out the window, so he must have developed some tact in the last couple of weeks,” Ron said, clearly disappointed, “Such a shame; I’ve always wondered if Slytherins always land on their heads.”

“Not funny,” Hermione replied simply.

Harry grinned at his friend, “Flying through a window would be enough for me; no matter what he landed on.”

Ginny rolled her eyes at the conversation, “Knowing Malfoy, he’d land on you two just for kicks.”

Harry glanced up at the window, “That’s true; let’s ask Percy to stand in front of us.”


	62. Progress

Draco wished that he could claim the taste of Calming Drought’s became more tolerable over time. Instead, he suspected someone was mixing chicken shit into the potion to mess with him.

The list of suspects was not short.

George had negotiated terms of work with his mother; if he remained home and sober on Monday through to Wednesday, he would return to the shop for the rest of the week.

Draco had taken advantage of his presence to ask the redhead for some assistance with his Patronus. Of all the Weasley’s, he found George to be the most tolerable; avoiding failing in front of Potter and Weasley was a bonus.

He had managed to produce a wispy vapour which could hold off a Dementor with a shoddy work ethic and abysmal attention span. Though George had assured him that he was making good progress, Draco was still disappointed in the results.

“You’re not planning any trips to Azkaban, are you?” George wondered.

Draco snorted, “Not in this lifetime. No, I was hoping to send a message to Lucius. As he is in hiding, he will have set up wards to keep owls away.”

Gryffindor’s were so obvious; Draco could see that George wanted to know what kind of message he wanted to send to his father.

“You are as open as a book,” Draco pointed out, “Just ask.”

George didn’t like how perceptive Draco was, “What would you say to him?”

“I’d tell him to keep his nose out of my life and take his marriage plans and stick the somewhere very unpleasant. The distance a Patronus provides is necessary; he might try to hex me impotent if I said as much to his face.”

George chuckled at the thought, “You could always threaten to change your surname to Black if he tries to disinherit you; I’m sure your mother wouldn’t mind.”

Draco Black. It had a nice ring to it.

“I might be worth it just to see the look on his face,” Draco agreed.

Being disowned by Lucius did not worry him; having Hermione decide that dealing with his crazy father was not worth the effort certainly did. No matter how often he reassured himself that she would not be intimidated by anyone, he still feared she would walk away and leave him to die.

He hated that the Veela gene had turned him into a self-doubting Hufflepuff.

“I’m hungry,” George announced, “Let’s get you in the same room as your mate before you have a nervous breakdown.”

“I resent that,” Draco replied mildly.

George snorted, “And she resented having you try to follow her into the bathroom this morning.”

Draco was still muttering threats under his breath when they entered the kitchen. George was not at all intimidated.

“Welcome back,” Potter teased as he sat down at the table next to Weasley, “Did Hermione pay you to take her new pet for a walk, George?”

“No, blackmail,” Draco replied as he sat down, “Just like when your woman forced me to sit you down in the shed for a detailed chat about -”

Potter began coughing loudly to halt the conversation.

“We shall discuss this later,” George said with a grin as Hermione and Weaslette entered the room.

“No, you won’t,” his sister argued smoothly.

Draco was rather interested in the way Weaslette interacted with Potter and her family. She was fiercely loyal to both, yet when push came to shove she was always standing up for Potter.

Draco recognised something in her actions which was remarkable familiar; devotion. He did not doubt that anyone who threatened the raven-haired wizard while she was nearby would suffer badly under her wand. Even though Potter had faced down Voldemort, Weaslette was there to defend him against any words which could hurt his feelings. It was oddly touching, even while ridiculous.

The same paradox existed between himself and Hermione; she had been facing down bigots and attempted murderers for years and yet some past of him was sure she needed help with every hangnail.

As he ate, Draco contemplated how much his life had changed. He should have resented his reliance on his mate, and every single adaption he was making for her. Instead, he was relieved to find a place to finally belong.

Even if it was a lop-sided house full of redheads.

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Hermione made sure Draco was taking three doses of Calming Draught each day and worked with Ginny to make sure anyone making snide comments ended up with a face full of bat-bogeys.

The week before the Summer Solstice passed quickly as her happiness increased. She and Draco spent hours talking after dinner; rehashing the past, contemplating the future and arguing on occasion. She loved the way he watched her avidly when something he said made her laugh.

The Curse of the Male Veela was not far from her thoughts, particularly the final passage. She wasn’t willing to push her luck until Draco regained his senses, but she did enjoy seeing him take off his shirt and get settled into bed.

Ginny had placed bets on Hermione not being a virgin by Halloween. Hermione had refused to comment, and silently doubted she would wait that long.

Sadly, getting up to anything in the Burrow just felt wrong. The return to Hogwarts was going to be very interesting.

Ginny had booted her out of the room, claiming that she slept better when Hermione wasn’t sneaking out at midnight. She pointed out that if she was lonely; she would invite Harry in to help her break the wards on the doorway.

For both couples, the idea of doing anything intimate while parents were in the house was just creepy. Ginny preferred the darkness of Grimmauld place to the risk of being interrupted.

On Friday morning Draco woke to the soft breathing of his mate on the back of his neck. Her arm was draped over his side and the satin of her nightie was resting against his back. The itch of his scars was easily ignored.

Hermione made a small noise in her sleep and her fingers brushed the tent in his boxers. Draco hissed and repressed the urge to thrust into her hand; he was not that lost to his instincts.

“I’m trying to be a gentleman here,” he muttered into his pillow.

The soft giggle behind him gave the game away. Before Draco could express his annoyance that she was pretending to sleep, her hand shifted to grip his morning erection with unexpected confidence.

“Suddenly speechless,” Hermione mused aloud.

“You’re playing with fire!” Draco gasped.

“Really?” Hermione said happily, “I thought I was playing with your penis.”

The nervousness she was feeling was drowned by curiosity and a tang of arousal. Draco only took a moment to assure himself that she was not overly anxious before shifting over to face her.

“Well, if we’re at the groping stage, I have been wanting to do this for years,” he buried his face in her breasts and used his thumbs to brush her nipples.

The squeal of laughter was reassuring; he had always feared Hermione was too uptight to accept her sexuality. Clearly, she was more proactive than he had every hoped.

“They’re just lumps of fat,” Hermione pointed out logically.

“They are divine, so never mock them. I worship at the altar of these nipples.”

“That doesn’t sound like any religion I know of,” Hermione mused.

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Harry froze in horror a few steps from the shed where Malfoy had taken up residence. The low moan he could hear made his stomach drop unpleasantly.

Ron stopped in concern; until he heard a similar noise. The two wizards stared at each other in disgust.

Ginny darted forward before either one could stop her. The door was open, so she was sure there was nothing intimate happening anyway.

Harry grasped empty air in his attempt to prevent Ginny from getting an eyeful of whatever awful activity was occurring.

“That looks great,” Ginny said to the occupants of the room, “My turn next.”

Ron began making an unhealthy choking noise while Harry lunged forward to drag her away is necessary.

“Settle down Harry,” Ginny laughed, “Look at them.”

Harry had his eyes squeezed shut to prevent any brain-melting images from sneaking in. It reminded him of the Basilisk.

“Seriously, what did you think we were doing?” Hermione asked, just before letting out another moan.

“How long have these knots been here?” Draco demanded of Hermione, “This muscle has changed shape to fit around it.”

Harry opened one eye to see Hermione lying on her stomach while Draco straddled her back to give her a back massage. They were both wearing their nightclothes, for which he thanked Merlin, Morgana, the Muggle God, Budda and any other deity he could think of.

“It’s safe Ron,” Ginny assured her brother, “Hermione is getting a back rub. The door was open; they wouldn’t be _doing_ anything.”

“Do those two dorks burst into your room every morning?” Draco asked his mate as he pressed his fingers into the muscles of her shoulders.

“Not _every_ morning,” Hermione groaned.

“Hermione is usually up before them,” Ginny offered, “Harry wanders around like a zombie for at least half an hour, and Ron staggers toward something edible as soon as his legs are under him. After the first plateful, he can usually string a sentence together.”

“Not a zombie,” Harry complained.

“Definitely a zombie,” Hermione argued, “Especially if you can’t find your glasses right away. Even with them on, your eyesight is terrible. When did you last get your prescription updated?”

Harry blinked at his friend with confusion, “They get updated?”

“You’re supposed to get them checked every two years,” Hermione informed him, the phrase punctuated by a pleased moan.

“When did you get your glasses?” Ginny asked Harry.

“When I started school and the teachers pointed out I was half-blind. Aunt Petunia nearly had a cow when she had to pay for them.”

“You have had the same glasses for twelve years?” Hermione asked in disbelief.

Harry shrugged, “The Dursley’s wouldn’t have paid for another set.”

“You have a vault full of gold, don’t you?” Draco demanded, “And access to magical eye specialists. I think those Muggles damaged your brain.”

Within half an hour Ginny and Hermione had organised the three boys into fresh clothes, a healthy breakfast and plans to visit Diagon Alley to get Harry’s eyes checked.

“We could disguise you,” Ginny offered Draco, when he complained about being harassed in Diagon Alley.

“You could offer to defend me against unfair attacks,” Draco replied, “That’s a Gryffindor thing, right?”

“Sure,” Ron agreed with an uncharacteristic smirk, “But fair attacks go ahead without interference.”

“Now you’re talking like a Slytherin,” Draco sighed.

“Don’t insult me.”

“It was a compliment.”

Hermione pushed Draco toward the fireplace before they could continue bickering.

“Do I have to be seen in public with him?” Harry sighed.

“Yes,” Ginny insisted, “And if someone from the Prophet wants a picture you’re to smile and pretend you are friends.”

“You know, my eyes aren’t that bad,” Harry mumbled.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It only took minutes for the adoring fans to begin trailing Potter like a bad smell. Draco would have found it amusing if it wasn’t so bloody irritating.

When the fans realized that their hero was travelling with Draco _Malfoy_ , of all people, their worshipping turned to anxious whispering.

Luckily, their reporter from the Prophet didn’t catch up to them until Potter was in getting his eyes checked. Hermione smiled at the brunette witch without hesitation.

“Hello, Patricia,” Hermione greeted smoothly, “I had heard you were working at the Prophet.”

“It’s good to see you again Hermione,” Patricia replied with a smile, “Though I am surprised that Mr Malfoy is here too.”

“My name is Draco,” the blonde corrected quickly, “I would prefer not to be confused with Lucius.”

“Patricia Stimpson, reporter for the Daily Prophet,” she introduced herself to him, “I must say, I am interested in this odd friendship.”

“Any article which mentions this meeting will need to be proof-read by my attorney,” Draco said haughtily, “Throwing mud at my family name has become a popular sport of late.”

Patricia could see a prime opportunity when it presented itself.


	63. A Picture is worth a Thousand Words

_MALFOY HEIR SEEN IN COMPANY OF HARRY POTTER: A New Age for the Wizarding World?_

The headline of the Saturday edition of the Prophet jumped out at Narcissa. She reached out to take the paper from the owl with growing curiosity.

Being seen publicly with Mr Potter was a good first step; and she trusted that Draco had enough sense to oversee the article before it was published. He had mentioned running into a former Hogwarts student the previous evening but hadn’t mentioned her career in the Prophet.

Narcissa scanned the article with a growing smile. Draco had been quoted saying that Lucius had not been in contact, and his absence was not mourned. He had also made a very blunt statement about his lack of interest in the plans for a pureblood wife.

‘Surely the growing insanity within the purest bloodlines is a sign that perceptions must change,’ he was quoted as saying, ‘To put it bluntly; I’d take my mother’s name and renounce the Malfoy inheritance completely if one of the conditions is marrying a pureblood of his choice. I have witnessed the decisions he has made in his lifetime and I am not at all impressed.’

Narcissa’s eyes flicked back to the headline; the title ‘Malfoy Heir’ annoyed her, even though it was accurate. Draco would forever be linked to his father and subtly blamed for his crimes. She tried not to be smug about his comment regarding a name change; with Regulus and Sirius dead the Black name was gone. She would be so proud if her son could resurrect it.

Hermione’s presence had been noted, though more emphasis placed on the members of the Weasley family who were also with him. Ginevra had apparently made a show of giving Draco a friendly hug and highlighting their family connection a few generations back.

Narcissa looked forward to learning more about that interaction when she next saw Draco.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco lay on his back on the grass, his eyes on the clouds far above him. Hermione lay perpendicular to him, using his stomach as a pillow. Her small hand was snugly fitted into his.

Their debate over the definition of evil had been lengthy and very interesting. Harry, Ron and Ginny had wandered away when they became bored that there was nothing to do with Quidditch being discussed.

Draco likes their discussions; it was liberating to be able to say anything without first analysing the risks of disclosing information to the wrong people.

“That one looks like a space shuttle,” Hermione mused lazily as she pointed to a cloud.

“A ‘space shuttle’?” Draco repeated, “How can space be shuttled?”

Hermione giggled and squeezes his hand, “A space shuttle is a rocket-propelled ship sent into space to explore.”

Draco squinted at the cloud and could only see the resemblance to a certain portion of the male anatomy.

“Muggles go into space?”

“Only for decades,” Hermione replied, “The first man walked on the Moon in 1969. There are satellites, telescopes and a space station up there too.” She was trying not to use her ‘patronising, know-it-all’ voice which Ron had pointed out multiple times throughout the years.

Draco regarded the sky warily, “Are they watching us right now?”

“I doubt it,” Hermione said with a smile, “The Earth is a big place.”

“Maintaining the Stature of Secrecy is going to get harder every day,” Draco mused.

“It certainly is,” Hermione agreed, “Especially when the old farts at the Ministry refuse to believe Muggles could be a threat. I pity the witch or wizard who ends up on the news doing magic; they’ll end up a scapegoat.”

Draco didn’t want to admit that the more he learned about Muggles, the more fascinating they seemed. He was determined to buy a trunk-load of pens to take to Hogwarts; quills were far too messy. The enlightening discussion about strip clubs hovered in his mind too, though he was not suicidal enough to try to bring that up to Hermione.

“Do you think the Wizarding world should reveal themselves to Muggles?” he asked curiously. He had discovered that debating with her was far more satisfying than arguing.

“No. The Muggle world is as corrupt and easily-influenced as the Magical one. For every ‘Dark Lord’ we have, there are a thousand psychos who would try to drop a bomb on Diagon Alley out of fear.”

The resulting explanation of a Muggle ‘bomb’ was chilling. For years, Draco had been told that Muggles were dangerous, and Hermione was confirming the assertion.

“Muggles are as dangerous as Wizards,” Hermione concluded, “Only their magic relies on technology and there are a hell of a lot more of them. We need to remain hidden for our survival and for Muggle peace of mind.”

“Was it hard to keep the secret from the people you were close to as a child?” Draco asked quietly.

“I didn’t have friends before I got to Hogwarts,” Hermione admitted, “Both of my parents were only children and their parents were quite old. In a sad way, I was perfectly positioned to head into the Magical world.”

“Are your grandparents still alive?”

Hermione sighed, “My mother’s parents are; they headed to Australia not long after I sent my parents there. They don’t know they have a granddaughter.”

Draco squeezed her hand sympathetically, “When Lucius was born, his mother was well into her forties and his father was nearly seventy. His mother died not long after I was born, and his Father died of Dragon pox when I was six. Grandfather Black died in 1992, but he was mostly senile when I was born. Grandmother Black retreated back to her family after Snake-Eyes disappeared in 81; I don’t know if she is still alive.”

“She didn’t want to stay with her husband?”

Draco snorted, “She was barely sixty and decided she wasn’t going to become a nursemaid to the man her parents had forced her to marry when she was nineteen. I think she’s in France somewhere.”

“Wizards and witches are supposed to live to at least one hundred; I wonder why they didn’t all get there?” Hermione suspected she knew the answer but didn’t want to insult him.

“Inbreeding,” Draco replied immediately, “The Black family is pretty bad for that; you would not believe the number of first and second cousin marriages in there. The Malfoy side isn’t as bad that way; they kept collecting rich, pureblood brides from mainland Europe to increase their vaults, I read an old Prophet article about my parents’ engagement; the writer was surprised that Lucius had chosen a British bride.”

“They really were breeding themselves into a corner,” Hermione mused, “I can understand the security threat Muggle-borns represent from the Pureblood perspective, but since the discovery of the genome it should have been obvious how important fresh blood was.”

“A Muggle discovery,” Draco pointed out. Their discussion on genetics had lasted long into the night the week before; he had already ordered a few books on the subject. “Purebloods were happy to ignore the discovery as meaningless rubbish.”

“It’s ironic that Riddle was so strong because of his Muggle father,” Hermione said thoughtfully.

“And he was defeated by the sacrifice of a Muggle-born witch and her half-blood son,” Draco agreed, “Throw Severus into the mix and there is a strong argument that half-bloods are more powerful.”

“The divisions are still the problem; pureblood, half-blood, muggle-born are all just labels. Society needs to accept that a witch is a witch and a wizard is a wizard.”

“Hogwarts needs to make Muggle Studies compulsory from First Year and add in a Magical Culture course for anyone not raised in our world,” Draco said, recalling the conclusion they had reached at the end of a previous debate.

“I won’t forget to mention it to Professor McGonagall,” Hermione assured him.

Hermione hadn’t realized how much she enjoyed her philosophical discussions with Draco until she tried to initiate one with Ron and Harry. Harry had muttered something feeble and Ron had asked her if she was trying to give him a headache.

The guilt she felt for preferring Draco’s company was unsettling. Harry and Ron had been her first real friends; contemplating how little they had in common felt like silent betrayal.

“You’re worrying again,” Draco said lazily.

“How do you know?”

“You get a cute little crease between your eyebrows,” he replied with a grin, “What is on your mind, my Love?”

The endearment was new enough that her stomach fluttered when she heard it, “Nothing much.”

“That crease says otherwise.”

Hermione sighed, “Well, I guess I was thinking how great it would have been to be able to sit down and talk to Harry and Ron like this; when it wasn’t involving an evil plot of course.”

Draco was honestly confused, “Why would that make you worry?”

“Well, I’ve known them for years and yet sometimes I look at them and wonder what we have in common,” Hermione admitted.

“I can see the similarities,” Draco said.

Hermione regarded him hopefully, “I would love to know. Seriously, I can analyse other people until the owls come home but when it comes to myself, I am clueless.”

“Well, you and Potter provide each other with the sibling relationship you both clearly craved. You both envy Weasley for his large family, even as you understand how unimportant he feels having so many older brothers.”

Draco was watching the clouds as he spoke, so he didn’t see the admiring gaze Hermione was raking over him.

“You’re both very stubborn, opinionated and driven by an unshakable moral compass which demands standards of behaviour others would abandon. You share loyalty, compassion and other strange character traits exhibited by Gryffindors.”

“What do I have in common with Ron?”

“Loyalty, patience with Potter’s moodiness, stubbornness and the insane idea that you can change the world.”

“Harry doesn’t think he can change the world?” Hermione asked curiously.

“Potter has done his part already; he wants to marry Weaslette, have a houseful of kids and leave the fame far behind.”

Hermione shifted around to face him, while still holding his hand, “How did you figure all of this out?”

Draco smiled at her mischievously, “I observe; it’s one of my strongest Slytherin traits.”

“The Sorting Hat made a very fast decision when you were sorted; don’t you have most of those traits?”

“I asked Daphne to pass along a message to the hat before I got there,” Draco admitted, “If it didn’t put me in Slytherin in record time, I would burn it.”

“You threatened a hat?” Hermione repeated.

“I didn’t need to hear that I would suit Ravenclaw, or whatever. My parents expected me to be the good little Slytherin and, at the time, that was all that mattered.”

“I could have gone into Ravenclaw or Gryffindor. After listening to the debate, I chose Gryffindor.”

“Did the lure of being in the same house as the famous Harry Potter tip you in that direction?” Draco fluttered his eyelashes in a comical display to take the sting out of his words. Hermione stuck her tongue out at him anyway.

“Maybe; it would have been very shocking if he had been sorted anywhere else. Looking back, it was such a pivotal moment in our lives.”

“Potter would never have survived without you,” Draco agreed.

“I’m not sure; he’s pretty resourceful.”

“He can dodge flying curses with the best of them, but he would never have figured out the what Snake-Eyes was after in his first year, the basilisk would still be unidentified now and he would have been splattered in the Triwizard maze,” Draco said decisively, “And who knows what visions he would have fallen for in fifth year.”

“I think you give me too much credit,” Hermione mused.

“I bet you did all the preparations and cooking for the extended camping trip too,” Draco added.

“I cooked at first, but I was so rubbish at it that we all took turns.”

“I’d have taken a House Elf,” Draco said with a smile.


	64. Another Picture is worth another Thousand Words

Minerva McGonagall farewelled the wizard from the Ministry who had delivered the portrait for her office. As it had been hung up securely, she had no choice but to remove the cloth which covered the front.

Severus Snape frowned at her from the painting. He glanced around the office beyond her with a raised eyebrow.

“No welcoming party?” he asked sardonically.

“I can break out the Firewhiskey, if you like?” she offered with a small smile. The heavy ache of regret she carried pulsed painfully at his familiar voice. Dumbledore had wronged Severus so many times and in so many ways; beginning with the cover-up of the Shrieking Shack incident and ending with all the secrets. She was angry that Severus had been put in the position of having to kill the old man and forced to endure the hatred of everyone around him.

“Sadly, I cannot imbibe these days,” Severus mused, “I’ll have to see what the other portraits have to offer. I am surprised that I am even here Minerva; the last we spoke you called me some very interesting names.”

“I am sorry, Severus; I really thought you had betrayed us. You fooled me so well that Harry had to share the Pensieve memories you gave him before I would believe him.” She remembered calling him a coward; it turned out he was the bravest man she had ever known.

Severus scowled at the thought of his memories being viewed by anyone, “And now?”

“You have been celebrated as a hero,” Minerva said quietly, “The Prophet won’t stop writing about your sacrifices and heroics.”

“How embarrassing,” Severus decided, “They treated me like rubbish when I was alive. I wouldn’t wipe a hippogriff’s backside with that rag.”

“There is talk of awarding you the Order of Merlin, First Class.”

Severus snorted, “I look forward to seeing their reaction when I tell them where to shove it.”

“I have missed you, Severus,” Minerva admitted, “I have seen too many of my former students die and I always hoped you would not be one of them. I wish I had known even a portion of what you suffered; even if I had to pretend to despise you, I could have been there for you in private.”

“I wish you had been informed, too,” Severus admitted, “He claimed there was a reason for the secrecy, but frankly I think that curse on his hand reached his brain.”

“If he wasn’t dead, I would have throttled him,” Minerva confessed, “I screamed at his portrait for an hour when I found out; he has been pretending to sleep for weeks.”

“At least I can be here to talk some sense into you when the old coot starts spewing rubbish for ‘the greater good’,” Severus replied, “Albus! Wake up!”

Across the room the portrait of Albus Dumbledore pretended to wake up. Minerva and Severus shared a glance of exasperation.

“Severus, my boy!” Albus greeted happily, “It is good to see you again.”

“Hello Albus,” Severus greeted mildly, in a tone most interpreted as disinterested, “I assume your manipulations were successful?”

“Yes,” Minerva replied with a sharp glare at Albus, “Voldemort is dead.”

“And Potter?” Severus asked worriedly.

“He died briefly; just long enough to destroy the Horcrux in his scar. He then returned to life and completed his task. He is staying at the Burrow,” Minerva supplied.

Severus sat back in his chair, clearly relieved, “The luck of the Gryffindor still holds,” he mused, “Were there many casualties?”

Minerva filled him in on the losses and watched the true regret on the stern face when Fred Weasley was mentioned.

“So much potential there,” Severus said sadly, “His twin may die of heartbreak.”

“Tonks and Remus also died in the final battle,” Minerva finished, “Their son is with Andromeda.”

Severus shook his head slowly, “Another orphan. Wherever Riddle is, I hope he is suffering for everything he inflicted.”

“And then some,” Minerva agreed, “The castle is repairing itself thankfully. We’re going to have a big group of First-Years and a tiny group of Second-Years. If the rooms didn’t adjust by themselves, I’d give up on trying to house everyone.”

“Are many returning as Eighth Years?” Severus asked.

“I have had a handful of replies; hopefully more come in soon. We’re going to start their classes in mid-July.”

“Is Potter returning?” Severus wanted to know.

“I suspect he will be picked up for Auror training,” Albus offered.

“He will need to sit his NEWTS for that,” Severus replied curtly.

“I’m sure something could be arranged,” Albus said calmly.

“Don’t you think you have interfered in Potter’s life quite enough?” Severus snapped, “You sent him to his death once already.”

“I always knew you cared for the boy, Severus,” Albus mused with a smile, “I had hoped you would be able to transfer some of your regard for Lily to her son.”

“And I hoped you would learn to see the people around you rather than the ‘greater good’ all the bloody time!” Severus spat. He stood up and stalked out of the picture, much like he had in life.

“His tempter hasn’t -” Albus began.

“Shut it, Albus,” Minerva snapped, “Do not depress me further by showing how little you have learned in your long life.”

The memory of Albus calmly telling Severus that Harry had to die had chilled her to the core. Sometimes she wondered if her mentor had recognised Riddle as a sociopath because he saw one in the mirror every day.

“Minerva.”

She looked up at the portrait of the man she had admired and trusted. Seeing him reminded her of how naive she had been.

“Yes, Albus?”

“I am sorry that I didn’t share more of my secrets with you during the final years,” he admitted sadly, “I really did think it was the only way.”

“Do you still believe that?”

“I do.”

“Then we must agree to disagree.”

“I was hoping to speak to you about -”

“Albus, after avoiding me for weeks, I am not inclined to listen to you.”

Minerva left her office while the portrait watched her sadly.

The second portrait of Severus Snape hung on the wall of the Slytherin common room. When Minerva went down to check on him, she found the frame to be empty.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Deep in the Department of Mysteries a dull veil sat undisturbed and completely silent. There was not a speck of dust on the cloth or the strong wooden frame. After centuries of study, no witch or wizard had could clarify exactly what it could do.

The Druids who had used it had passed down their knowledge verbally, so when they were killed by the Romans, their knowledge was lost forever.

No-one saw the gentle glow of white light which slid along the supporting columns, nor heard the hum of magic brewing. Ancient power swirled around the artefact and lit up the room with a flash of brilliant, white light.

As the sun sank below the horizon on the Summer Solstice, Sunday the 21st of June, a tall, dark-haired wizard tumbled through the veil onto the floor.

Severus Snape sat up, muttered a swear word and looked down at the robes he was wearing, “They buried me in this? Bloody dunderheads!”

“Don’t be so hard on them, Sev,” a female voice replied, “You always looked good in blue.”

The spectral form of Lily Evans stood before him, the image of the day she had died. He could see through her to the wall beyond, which was the only indication that she was not alive.

“I look like a bloody Ravenclaw,” Severus muttered.

“I would have preferred seeing you in Gryffindor red, or hot pink,” Lily offered with a teasing smile.

“I had forgotten how bloody irritating you could be.”

Lily beamed at him, “I’m just getting started! I’m going to stay right by your side for every second of the day until you begin living your life again. Now, get your wand out of your pocket and send a Patronus to Kingsley.”

“Bossy cow.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Since assuming the mantle of Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt had dealt with many strange situations. His life experience had also included a great many interesting conundrums.

Yet the sight of Severus Snape sitting calmly on the chair in his office would remain in his mind for many years. Kingsley had helped to transport the body up from the Shrieking Shack. He had attended the funeral. He had read countless Prophet articles on the torture the spy had endured and the sheer strength of will it had taken to lie to Voldemort for years.

And now Severus was glaring at him with the familiar haughty expression.

He was still wearing the robes he had been buried in.

The Aurors had left him a message saying there was an urgent matter which needed his attention, and all the details were in his office.

“You’re not dead,” Kingsley said finally.

Severus rolled his eyes, “Very astute. If you don’t be careful, some idiot might make you Minister of Magic.”

Kingsley felt the awe draining out of the situation, “I should have known that not even death could stop you from being a sarcastic git.”

A small smile graced those thin lips, “Well, if you can manage it, I would like to be classified as ‘alive’ so I can reclaim the remains of my sad little life. Let’s fill in the form, tick the box and move on.”

Kingsley sat down carefully in his chair; his eyes still fixed on the taciturn wizard in front of him. Death Eaters had testified that the man in front of him was the only one who could suffer the Cruciatus curse without making a single sound. Even among seasoned followers, he was feared.

“I fail to see how I could be so fascinating that you cannot turn away,” Severus drawled, “Have I changed that much? If you’re going to ask me out, the answer is no.”

Kingsley shook his head, “You’re the same; that’s the problem. I helped to carry your body out of the Shrieking Shack. Seeing you again is rather disconcerting.”

“That bloody shack,” Severus recalled, “I should have known I would die _there_. At least Black wasn’t involved this time.”

“Black? You mean Sirius?”

“Well, I don’t mean Regulus. Sirius tried to kill me in my Sixth Year of Hogwarts by luring me down to the Shrieking Shack during the full moon to set Lupin on me. It’s damn ironic that I died there more than twenty years later.”

“Sirius tried to kill you? Why wasn’t he expelled?” Kingsley had known that Dumbledore had always been given plenty of leeway regarding the way he managed Hogwarts, but such a serious incident should have involved Aurors.

“It was hushed up to keep Lupin’s secret from coming out,” Severus said dismissively, “Oddly, I am no longer bitter about it. Black always insisted it was a prank, the arrogant berk. Frankly, I don’t believe that the madness in his family skipped him entirely.”

The handful of interactions Kingsley had witnessed between Sirius and Severus had been heavily doused with mutual hatred; he had assumed a schoolboy rivalry had festered for too long. Finding out attempted murder had been involved made him reconsider how Sirius had constantly belittled the man in front of him.

Kingsley had always thought that the years Black had spent in Azkaban had affected his judgement; if he had been callous enough to try to get a peer killed at the age of sixteen, no wonder it had been easy to believe he had betrayed his friends.

“I hate the idea that Dumbledore covered up something so serious,” Kingsley admitted.

Severus wanted to sneer at the naivety everyone held onto when Albus was mentioned.

“You would be surprised at some of the decisions Dumbledore made in his lifetime,” Severus said evasively.

Kingsley knew he would not hear anything more on the subject. He had never understood Severus Snape, and he wondered if that was for the best.

“Welcome back, Severus,” Kingsley offered.


	65. Severus

Potter was staring at Weaslette in wonder, “I found another freckle,” he pointed to her cheek gently.

Draco rolled his eyes at the nauseating display. The first hour of Potter exclaiming over his new vision had been tolerated; the second had been distinctly irritating. Now, days later, it was infuriating.

“Potter; how did you accomplish anything with such terrible vision?” Draco wondered aloud, “If Snake-Eyes had shut up for once, would you have been clueless as to his location?”

“I could see him,” Potter said absently, still staring at Weaslette, “He was just a bit blurry.”

“How did you read the instructions in your potions book?”

“With lots of squinting and headaches; the stuff on the board was always hard to see too.”

“I’m surprised you passed anything.”

Weaslette ran her hand through the messy, black hair, “Maybe you’ll be top of all the classes now that you can actually _see_. Your magic should be stronger too, as it won’t be compensating all the time.”

Draco rolled up the plans for the Malfoy Manor land and left the room to avoid the couple, who were clearly on the verge of snogging. He had no desire to see his breakfast again.

He was watching Hermione through the window when the floo roared in the next room.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Arthur considered Kingsley Shacklebolt to be a friend, yet he could never forget the title he now carried. When the Minister of Magic requested a meeting first thing in the morning, he was anxious that something was wrong.

The meeting had been short and baffling. He had agreed to floo home to collect Harry and Draco, and then return directly to Kingsley’s office.

Arthur didn’t like secrets, especially after learning some details about how much Albus had kept from the rest of the Order.

“All will be revealed soon,” Kingsley had assured him in that deep voice, “As soon as you bring them to my office.”

Draco rolled his eyes as Potter was pried away from his fiancée by a smiling Arthur. The man was far too obvious in his delight that a wizard wanted to seduce his daughter. Again.

He shuddered to think what Lucius would do if he had a daughter’s virtue to protect; have her escorted everywhere by House Elves, he suspected. Or dragons with an intense hatred of males.

When he stepped out of the floo in Kingsley’s empty office, Draco realized that one day he might have a daughter to protect, too.

“You look weird,” Potter commented casually, “Are you nervous or something?”

“No,” Draco denied, “I just realized how having a pet dragon could be useful.”

“Unless you live in a wooden house,” Potter mused.

Kingsley entered from the door opposite the one which connected to the hallway. Draco knew it led to the private sitting room and bathroom.

“Something incredible happened late on Sunday night,” Kingsley said seriously as he sat down behind his desk, “After everything that you have been through, I hope this is not too traumatic.”

His eyes rested on Potter, Draco noticed. He felt the flash of irritation quite sharply; who would anyone consider the experiences of a teenage Death Eater when the Boy-Who-Lived was around?

“I’m sure Malfoy will cope,” Potter replied calmly.

Draco hid his smirk as the Minister glanced at him in surprise. Clearly, Kingsley had barely noticed that Potter was not the only teenager in attendance.

“You can come out now,” Kingsley called to the closed door he had entered from.

Draco didn’t know what to expect but seeing his godfather step into the room was beyond his imagining. Even the vision Potter had shared could not prepare him for the reality.

Severus stepped into the room and scanned its occupants with his customary blank expression. Within seconds Draco was on his feet and barrelling toward the man without reservation.

Draco would later reflect that he had regressed to the mentality of an eight-year-old. He did not care who was watching, or what impressions he was leaving on the Minister of Magic; he only cared that the man who he loved as a father was back from the dead.

Harry watched with envy as Draco launched himself at the dour Professor. Snape froze in place before his hand hesitantly settled on Draco’s shoulder.

“I missed you, Uncle Sev,” Draco was saying in an emotional tone, “I’m so glad you’re back.”

“The Vision was right,” Harry said aloud.

“Vision?” Kinsley asked immediately.

“Potter saw a vision of you talking to some woman in the Afterlife,” Draco explained to Severus as they pulled apart. He blinked quickly and hoped no-one noticed the moisture in his eyes; he must have gotten dust in them.

“Of course,” Severus mused, “Always sticking his nose into everything.” The lack of malice in his tone was encouraging.

Potter was staring at Severus with a pained expression. Draco wondered if the raven-haired wizard was constipated.

“I was afraid you would be in Azkaban when I got back,” Severus said to Draco seriously.

“I’m wearing an ankle monitor, and have to go back to Hogwarts,” Draco explained, “There are a few conditions, but I wasn’t sent there. Mother has a year of House Arrest; she’s staying with Aunt Dromeda.”

Severus was clearly surprised, “I’ve never even heard Narcissa speak her name. Andromeda was a few years ahead of me at Hogwarts.”

“And a couple of years behind Molly and me,” Arthur added, “It’s good to see you again, Severus.”

“Thank-you, Arthur.”

Severus finally let his gaze turn to the boy who represented the woman he loved and the man he hated.

Draco hid a smile at the tension between the two. Potter was easy to read, and he had known Severus long enough to know he was not comfortable.

Severus stretched his fingers in a nervous gesture to relieve some tension. The bright green eyes of Harry Potter blinked at him cautiously.

“Hello Mr Potter,” he said politely.

_“His name is Harry!” Lily insisted loudly, “He’s so handsome! Oh, Sev, tell him how proud of him I am!”_

Severus resisted the urge to glare at her or argue with her. Being seen to speak to the empty air was not a good sign.

“I’m glad you’re back, Professor,” Harry offered in a subdued tone.

_“How could you not love him, Sev?” Lily continued, “He has my eyes, for Merlin’s sake. If I could, I’d kick your arse for being so cruel to him in class!”_

“Thank-you,” Severus replied to Harry. The conversation could not be more awkward if one of them was naked.

_“You are hopeless Sev!” Lily cried, “Tell him that I’m here! Tell him, tell him, tell him, tell him…………..”_

“Will you stop talking?!” Severus yelled at the empty space beside him.

Harry’s mouth dropped open; clearly there was something very wrong with Snape.

“Great,” Snape sneered condescendingly to his right, “Now I look completely mental.”

“Only a little,” Harry offered.

“Maybe you’re related to the Black family too,” Draco muttered as he stepped back to allow Severus to sit down on the chair Kingsley offered.

Severus covered his face with one hand and dropped into the chairs, “I did not come through the Veil alone, Mr Potter.”

_“Stop calling him ‘Mr Potter’!” Lily insisted again, “His name is HARRY.”_

“I am being harassed by a loud, moody and extremely demanding spirit who only I can see,” Snape explained.

“We have confirmed this,” Kingsley added, “The signature of a ghost is present, even if she is not visible.”

Harry had heard stranger things in his lifetime, “Um, ok.”

“As eloquent as ever, Harry,” Snape sighed.

“So, you _do_ know my first name,” Harry said with a straight face.

“Indeed. And this obnoxious ghost is threatening to sing at the top of her lungs if I don’t use it; she has the worst singing voice imaginable,” Snape glared at the air as though daring it to contradict him, “Fighting cats sound more pleasant.”

Harry kept looking to see who was there and found nothing. He decided that playing along with the delusion was the best way to get more information out of the man, “Who is she?”

Snape stared at the empty space for at least a minute before rolling his eyes and turning back to the wizard, “The irritating harridan stalking me is Lily Potter, nee Evans.”

“Mum?” Harry realized in a strangled voice.

Draco glanced at Arthur, who was as concerned as he was. Potter was handling the stress of the last couple of months quite well, but something this big could throw him off balance for a long time.

“Yes. As much as I loved her, I am remembering all the atrocious habits she had.”

“Like what?”

“She reminds me of Miss Granger actually; she’s very bossy.”

Draco felt a slight flare of annoyance before he accepted that his mate could be a little pushy at times. He found it rather attractive.

“What is she saying now?”

Snape glared to his right, “No.”

Harry could not hear the response, but from the way Snape cringed it had to be interesting.

“No.”

The argument sounded quite boring from Harry’s perspective.

“What is she saying?” he asked hopefully.

Severus made the mistake of considering those green eyes while Lily pleaded with him.

Harry watched Snape’s shoulders droop in resignation. Somehow the fearsome Potions master did not look so intimidating while he was glaring at his invisible friend.

Severus kept his gaze pinned on that messy hair to keep the focus off those eyes, “Your mother wants you to know that she is very proud of you,” he said in a strained voice.

Harry refused to admit that there was moisture welling up in his eyes, not in front of Snape. Draco lowered his gaze and bit his lip to stop the laugh he desperately wanted to express. He had never seen Severus look so uneasy.

“No!” Snape hissed to his right.

“I think I like you better this way, Professor,” Harry said softly.

Sever frowned at the young man while Lily droned on. Ignoring her was like avoiding a rampaging hippogriff intent on stomping everyone into oblivion.

“If I am admitted to St Mungo’s, I expect you to come vouch for my sanity,” Severus grumbled.

“What is she saying?” Harry whispered.

Severus covered his eyes with one hand, “She says you’re ‘very handsome’.”

Harry felt the edge of a smile tug at the side of his mouth; no-one would believe that Snape had said _that_.

Draco giggled into his hands.

“Something to add, Mr Malfoy?” Severus asked pointedly. Draco shook his head frantically.

“Lily,” Severus complained to the air next to him, “ _No_.”

“What is she asking?” Harry wondered, while staring at the blank space where his mother was. He was still trying to blink away the tears which were gathering in his eyes. Oddly, he was not worried about crying in front of Snape for fear of ridicule, but concern that such a display would make the man withdraw completely.

“She wants permission to temporarily take control of my body,” Severus sighed, “And she has promised to stop nagging me for at least two hours if I comply.”

“That sounds risky,” Draco muttered.

“Fine,” Snape hissed at the air, “You have one minute.”

Harry watched in awe as the annoyed expression on the hook-nosed face smoothed out and his eyes fluttered shut. A moment later Snape broke out in a genuine grin.

Draco found the sight rather creepy.

“Oh Harry!” Snape lunged forward to envelope Potter in a hug. His voice was the same, yet the tinge of genuine love was completely out of place.

“Your father and I could not be prouder, Harry!” Snape gushed, “Ginny is perfect for you, and if you don’t want to be an Auror, teaching is a great idea. You clearly enjoyed the DA and have a talent for it.”

“You were watching?” Potter realized.

“Of course! Something so important is visible where we are. Sev is complaining something fierce,” Lily continued, “How are we supposed to get him a woman when he never stops whining?”

Draco gaped at the spectacle without a hint of embarrassment. Snape was _fussing_ over Potter and even ruffled his hair. Even knowing it was Lily in control of the motions didn’t help.

“We love you so much Harry; please try to put up with the snarky dungeon bat; he really is a good person once you break through the sarcasm.”


	66. Resemblance

Potter backed away from Severus the moment the scowl returned. Draco braced himself for some sort of explosion.

“How was she able to do that?” Arthur asked.

“It requires a close bond with the living person, and consent,” Kingsley explained, “Most ghosts don’t bother as it takes a huge amount of energy.”

“And it is not comfortable,” Severus added.

“Thank-you, Professor,” Potter offered softly.

“Never mention this to anyone; ever,” Severus ordered, “Hero or not, you’ll end up in an assortment of jars in my lab if you breathe a word to anyone.”

“Yes, sir,” Potter replied with a tentative smile.

“The same applies to you, Draco,” Severus added to the amused blonde, “I know where your mother keeps the album of your baby pictures.”

Draco cringed at that thought; he had gone through a stage of pulling his own clothes off and Narcissa had kept her camera close.

“I’ll take it to the grave,” Draco said firmly.

“Good. If you forget, I have a variety of potions which require Veela blood and I would be willing to experiment.”

“Did Mother tell you about that?”

Severus shook his head, “You’d be amazed what information is freely available to the dead. Don’t worry Harry; that birthmark on your backside matches the scar on your forehead quite well.”

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Potter returned to the Burrow after a short farewell. Draco knew the umbilical cord between him and Weaslette had been stretched too far.

Arthur and Kingsley excused themselves to allow Severus to speak privately with his godson.

“Curb the impulse to gush,” Severus ordered before Draco could even begin, “I have missed you too. What has happened since the Battle?”

Draco kept the summary brief and tried to gloss over the injuries on his back. Severus interrupted immediately to ask some questions about how they were healing.

“Quite well; Hermione checks them every couple of days; they just itch now.”

Severus nodded and motioned for him to continue.

Draco tactfully left out the sex-talk with Potter and didn’t share any intimate details about his mate. He had known Veela were private, so the impulse to clam up didn’t surprise him.

“I guess you want the house back?” Draco concluded.

Severus shrugged, “I have no attachment to that miserable little place. Do you have a use for it?”

“I was thinking of buying up the whole neighbourhood and making it a protected residential zone for Magicals,” Draco admitted, “Hermione was explaining how hard it is to assimilate when the exposure to our world is limited to Hogwarts and Diagon Alley. She said something about offering Squibs a school to help them adjust to the Muggle world, and a primary school for Muggle-borns. The area around Spinner’s End isn’t big enough for that, but it could be a start.”

Severus was secretly pleased that Draco had been drawn to Miss Granger; only someone as stubborn as her could break through to the blonde he had watched grow up.

“Mother loves the idea too; I think she wants to teach some of the youngest ones; with Linna to help of course.”

Kingsley and Arthur returned as Draco was explain why Narcissa had not been able to attend the meeting. Severus only commented that house arrest was a better option than Azkaban.

“I contacted Andromeda by Floo,” Kingsley offered, “She is expecting you within the hour. Draco; I would transfer your temporary guardianship to Severus, but the paperwork is a nightmare.”

“That’s fine,” Arthur laughed, “Just don’t tell Molly how much I like the cake Dromeda offers; she wants to limit my sugar intake.”

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Hermione grinned at Ginny in the middle of the bookstore. Ginny wondered if the brunette was losing her mind.

“Draco is really happy,” Hermione whispered when she realized how confused her friend was.

“Or he has finally lost his mind,” Ginny replied, “We all know about the madness in the Black family.”

“Such an optimist,” Hermione decided.

The reported who snapped a picture of the two of them was ignored as they headed toward the Quidditch store. Neither of them noticed the pair of dark eyes which followed them from within the store.

“I’ve been thinking about the number of purebloods that Daphne mentioned,” Hermione said thoughtfully as Ginny drooled over some new broom, “There were lots of students who identified themselves as ‘Pureblood’ that she didn’t include; Blaise Zabini for example.”

Ginny tore her attention away from the fascinating display to address the query.

“I think Daphne was using the ‘Sacred Twenty-Eight’ definition rather than the common one.”

“Great; more grey area. How are they different?”

“The Weirdo-Twenty-Eight rules mean you have to have no Muggle ancestors for at least five hundred years. That’s why Crabbe and Goyle are not on the list. The Malfoy’s only just scraped in; half-bloods were accepted into the family a few times before 1400.”

“And for everyone else?”

“Having four magical grandparents will suffice; so, any kids Harry and I have will be considered Pureblood; but not Sacred-Twenty-Eight Pureblood.”

“That’s weird,” Hermione sighed.

“I agree; and Mum and Dad hate that both their families appear on there. The Potter’s missed out because they only have records going back to the 1600s; and the name is common in the Muggle world. Sometimes we tease Dad they we should all change our names to ‘Smith’.”

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Draco stood in the living room of the Tonks house watching Arthur step through the floo with a surge of anticipation in his stomach. He knew how happy his mother would be to see Severus again, and like any spoiled boy who had been doted on by his mother, he loved seeing her happy.

Arthur brushed off some soot and greeted Dromeda and Narcissa casually. Draco had already received his standard hug from both women.

“So, who is the mystery guest?” Narcissa asked curiously.

Arthur only shook his head, clearly unwilling to spoil the reunion. Draco was immune to the attempts to pry out information, after years of exposure. Neither of them considered how badly the introductions could go until it was too late.

Severus stepped out of the flames without a speck of ash on him. His dark eyes trained on Dromeda and he had his wand pointed at her within a second.

Dromeda slowly pulled out her own wand, yet kept it pointed at the floor.

“I am not that bitch,” Dromeda said flatly, “I am Andromeda Tonks. Lower your wand immediately or I will shove it up your backside.”

Narcissa waited until Severus slowly relaxed before moving forward to hug him. Arthur stood next to Dromeda protectively.

“Severus! How is this possible! You were dead! The funeral!” Narcissa broke down into sobs, which made Severus stiffen and pat her back awkwardly.

“I apologize for my reaction,” he said to Andromeda, even as Narcissa continued to cling to him.

Dromeda nodded in acknowledgment, “The resemblance to that sister is unfortunate. Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Yes, please,” Severus retained his manners, yet his eyes did not leave the witch until she was completely out of sight. The resemblance to Bellatrix was jarring.

Narcissa pulled back from her friend, wiped her eyes and blinked up at him.

“I am glad to see you again Narcissa,” Severus offered formally.

“I hated those robes,” Narcissa replied as her eyes swept over his clothing, “I told them you wouldn’t be happy being buried in Ravenclaw colours.”

“You know me too well.”

Narcissa hooked her arm through his and led him into the kitchen, “I doubt that! I didn’t know you were a spy; I feel like a complete idiot for missing it.”

“My life depended on my ability to act,” Severus explained without apology.

“I don’t blame you, Severus,” Narcissa hastily reassured him, “I admire your bravery and cunning. Of course, knowing what I do now, I have to find a woman equally brave and cunning for you to court.”

Severus paused in the doorway, still unnerved by Dromeda’s resemblance to her sister Bellatrix. It was more than the physical features; there was a hard expression in her eyes when she had ordered him to lower his wand. Bellatrix had always been powerful, and the insanity had been her demise.

Confronting a witch who could be just as powerful and completely sane had incited a spark of fear he had not enjoyed. Even confronting the Dark Lord had been less of a concern; Severus at least knew what that creature had wanted from him.

An inhuman snarl shattered the quiet activity in the kitchen and sent Severus back into war mode. He had pushed Narcissa behind his back and turned his wand on the sound before he realized it was Draco.

“Hermione is scared, and angry,” Draco hissed, “And her location abruptly changed.”

“She and Ginny were going to Diagon Alley,” Arthur supplied quickly.

The horse Patronus he had seen once before galloped through the wall and announced, _“Hermione has been kidnapped! I’m going back to the Burrow to find Harry and Ron. I’m so sorry, Malfoy!”_

“Go through the floo,” Narcissa ordered, “No-one can Apparate in the house. Go!”

“Take Dora’s broom!” Dromeda added before they could leave. Draco snatched it up without hesitation.

Severus picked up the second broom doubtfully.

“I’m sure Remus wouldn’t mind you borrowing it,” Dromeda said sharply, “Hurry up!”

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Arthur was the last to arrive at the Burrow, having taken the time to send a Patronus to Kingsley to let him know what had happened.

“I’m going to floo to each of the Malfoy properties in the country,” Draco spat, his voice carrying a strange hiss, “I will be able to sense which one is closest to Hermione. The I can jump on the broom and follow the pull.”

“I’m coming with you,” Severus decided, “The wards will allow me through. Once we find the closest property I will return and side-Apparate everyone else to the spot.”

“We can’t just _sit_ here!” Ron cried.

“You need to be just outside the wards so I can grab you and return quickly,” Severus ordered, “Everyone, grab the fastest broom you have and potions.”

“Blood-replenishing and general Healing potions,” Ginny agreed. She hauled her brother out the door to fetch the broomsticks.

“I’ll go the Ministry to alert the Aurors,” Arthur said firmly.

Harry snorted, “Assuming they’re not involved. We know how corrupt that place is.”

“Essex Manor!” Draco cried. Severus was only seconds behind him.

Harry felt the adrenalin kick in as he checked the contents of the Potions bag stored in the kitchen. The cushioning charms were intact, and someone had added a few boxed of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder too.

If Hermione was hurt in any way, there would be hell to pay.

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Hermione felt the disorienting pull of a Portkey as soon as the strange hand grabbed her arm. Someone bellowed “ _Incarcerus!_ ” before she could get her wand out of her robes. As she hit the floor bound in ropes she decided that as soon as she was free from these idiots she was going to Ollivander’s to get a wand-holder to strap to her arm.

“You are a disappointment, Mudblood,” her captor spat.

Hermione recognised Thadius Nott from the Wanted Posters in Diagon Alley. He was much uglier in person. Theo had inherited his dark hair and eyes; luckily his mother must have contributed more to his plain features.

“They always are,” another Death Eater replied with disinterest. Rookwood.

“Maybe Lucius will be more forthcoming when you start screaming,” Nott Sr mused, “He seems to think that you need to be kept alive.”

“Are you sure he hasn’t just lost his marbles since his precious ‘Master’ was killed?” Hermione asked.

“Has Lucius been slumming?” Rookwood asked nastily, “I know the wedding vows mean the wife cannot cheat, but he could be dipping his wick elsewhere. What are you like in the sack, Mudblood?”

Hermione could not hide her disgust at the implication, “Are you always this vulgar?” she wondered aloud, “I would slit my own throat before bedding Lucius Bloody Malfoy.”

Nott smirked at her admission, “Then, why would he need you alive?”

“No idea,” Hermione lied, “I’ll stick with the ‘lost his marbles’ theory.”

Rookwood exchanged a glance with his fellow Death-Eater, “Don’t worry little girl; by the time we’re through with you, no-one will care if you’re dead; especially not you.”


	67. Don't Mess with a Veela

Draco didn’t even bother to watch Severus Apparate away. He swung one leg over the broom and shot forward with rising fury.

Hermione was nervous, and it was quickly escalating into fear. She needed him, and he was not going to fail her.

Draco leaned forward on the broomstick, pushing it to speeds it was clearly not built for. As the handle began to shake a large house slid into view.

Draco didn’t realize he had thrown a ball of flames into the wooden door; he only knew that he wanted the obstacle gone and a moment later it was a fiery mess.

The hope Hermione was feeling spurred him onwards.

Thadius Nott stumbled backwards instinctively. The sudden heat scorched the oxygen in the room, making him gasp for air.

One look at the furious blonde surrounded by fire destroyed any lingering bravery in Nott Sr. Claws flashed through the air as the Malfoy heir snarled inhumanly.

It was the sight of the unnaturally long canine teeth and flared wings behind the blonde hair which sparked the retreat in Thadius Nott.

Draco hissed at the space left by the wizard, who had disappeared with a POP. Amazingly, the second Death Eater had not noticed his arrival. Draco recognised Rookwood as the half-naked Death Eater who was calling Hermione vile names and clutching his groin. Red fury clouded his vision when he realized his mate was completely naked.

Hermione silently thanked Molly for teaching her the wandless cleaning spell which she had deployed. Apparently, it was powerful enough to scrub delicate skin off in seconds and leave an adult man squealing like a child.

Rookwood lunged forward, adrenalin allowing him to momentarily ignore the pain to seek revenge. The naked witch glared up at him defiantly as though she had the right to deny him.

Hermione smirked as Draco caught the repulsive man with both hands. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but she never imagined that Draco would twist the arm he held and rip it right out of the shoulder joint.

Rookwood screamed in agony, which elicited a feral grin from the Veela.

The severed limb bled profusely, though it was barely noticed. Draco used it as a club to attack Rookwood, sending multiple splatters of blood up the walls.

The Death Eater flinched away from the horror of his own arm being used as a weapon against him. The creature wielding it was bellowing a primeval battle cry like something possessed by a demon.

Hermione knew what was about to happen.

“Draco! Stop!” she yelled, “He could have information we need!”

Draco stood over his adversary, struggling to stop himself from ripping into the flesh of the piece of filth who had dared to lay a hand on his mate. His wings trembled with the effort it took to refrain from slaughtering the man in front of him.

Hermione retrieved her wand from the drawer it had been carelessly thrown into. She snatched up a piece of torn fabric which had been a part of her shirt and transfigured it into a robe.

“Help me,” Rookwood moaned.

Draco dropped the severed arm onto his chest; that was all the help the Death Eater was going to receive from him.

Hermione tried to clean the blood from Draco with a spell, but her hand was shaking, and she couldn’t form the words correctly.

Draco cast the spell for her; his clothes were instantly cleaned but his exposed skin was still streaked with red smears.

Hermione wrestled the robe over her head as he composure broke. By the time she had it on properly she was sobbing.

Arthur and Harry arrived a few minutes later. Draco sat with his back against the wall and his body curled protectively around the traumatised woman in his lap.

A warning growl made Harry abandon his plan to check on Hermione.

“St Mungo’s,” Arthur said as soon as he realised the Death Eater was still alive.

“Is Hermione injured?” Harry demanded of the Veela, “Are you?”

Severus swept through the shattered doorway, quickly followed by Ron and Ginny.

“Rookwood,” Severus spat with disapproval.

“Can you stay with Draco and Hermione?” Arthur asked him, “He won’t let us close enough; she could be hurt.”

Severus eyed the torn clothing, and Rookwood’s lack of trousers. Even if she wasn’t injured, she was surely traumatised.

“Go,” Severus said simply, “I won’t complain if you lose his arm on the way. Or other parts of his anatomy.”

Draco didn’t care who had arrived or departed. No-one was approaching his mate until she calmed down. His wings faded as the immediate danger passed.

Harry and Ron kept their distance from the couple; those claws had not retracted.

Ginny approached slowly while the blonde watched her every move.

“Are you hurt, Hermione?” Ginny asked gently.

The brunette slowly lifted her head to answer, “No.”

“No, um, internal injuries?” Ginny prompted.

Hermione realized what her friend was asking, “He tried to rape me, but I hit him with a scrubbing spell,” she said softly.

Harry winced at the thought. Ron shuddered.

Ginny grinned evilly, “Excellent idea! I hope it falls off.”

Harry watched his fiancée with alarm until she blew him a kiss. Considering what the Death Eater had been trying to do, he could understand her reaction. He made a mental note to never piss her off unless his bits were hidden; preferably behind someone else.

Hermione watched the Aurors arrive with a distinct feeling of disinterest. In some remote corner of her brain she realized she was in shock or something.

Draco remained a shield between her and the world; a barrier she desperately needed.

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Arthur waited until a pair of Aurors arrived to take custody of the prisoner. He didn’t care if the arm could be reattached, and the Healer muttered something about wanting to castrate rapists if he hadn’t taken a certain oath.

The scene was largely unchanged when he returned; Draco and Hermione were curled up together while Harry, Ron and Ginny hovered worriedly. Severus was speaking to the small knot of Aurors.

“So instead of thanking us for doing your job for you, you are accusing me of criminal activity?” Severus demanded of the closest Auror.

“It is a perfectly reasonable question,” the Auror protested, “Where have you been since the Battle of Hogwarts?”

“Are you as dim-witted as you appear, or does it take effort?” Severus snarled, “Your own Department discovered me in the Department of Mysteries and the bloody Minister of Magic confirmed my death and rebirth!”

Another Auror pulled his colleague out of the way of the furious wizard and offered a weak apology. Arthur tried not to smile; Severus was always amusing.

“I can see why you want to be an Auror, Potter,” Severus added condescendingly, “You could have outsmarted this lot as a First-Year.”

Harry opened his mouth, only to close it again.

Severus sighed, “Great; I’ve confused the poor boy.”

Arthur rescued Harry from having to reply, “I fear that hearing your style of back-handed compliment would confuse most people; after all, you don’t give out many compliments.”

“I give out compliments,” Severus argued, “It’s not my fault that most people are too stupid to understand them.”

“We all have our burdens to bear,” Arthur mused cheerfully, “Has anyone been able to check on Hermione?”

“I’m fine,” Hermione said irritable, still encased in Draco’s arms, “Mostly.”

“Is Malfoy going to bite if we get too close?” Ron asked worriedly.

“Come over here and find out,” Draco muttered.

“He sounds healthy enough,” Severus observed, “Come on, Draco. I doubt Miss Granger wants to remain here any longer.”

Behind Severus, a different Auror cleared his throat to draw their attention, “We need to take statements from Miss Granger and Mr Malfoy so we can decide what charges need to be laid.”

“I will be glad to get rid of the memories,” Hermione replied as Draco helped her to her feet.

“They will remain at the Burrow until an Auror arrives to collect the memories needed,” Arthur offered.

Hermione didn’t like the way the Auror was glaring at Draco.

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“So, they need to get the ball into the net?” Ron clarified while he contemplated the television screen.

“Yes,” Hermione confirmed. She was cuddled up to Draco and far more interested in the way he was playing with her hair.

“How boring,” Ron decided, “No flying, no bludgers and no snitch.”

“Well, the Magical world has Quidditch, but Muggles have heaps of different sports,” Harry explained, “Though none on brooms.”

While Harry attempted to explain the variety of Muggle sports in existence, Hermione manoeuvred Draco into a leaning position so she could rest against him comfortably.

She admired the creases in his hand and ran her nail along the lines on his palm. In her mind, she could clearly see the smears of blood he had scrubbed away hours earlier.

Hermione expected the revulsion to follow the memory, yet it didn’t. She couldn’t even conjure any guild over the Death Eater who had been rushed to St Mungo’s.

The Aurors had tried to question Draco, only to be informed by Kingsley that they would be risking their lives by getting too close. Revealing his status as a Veela had made them back off, though he was warned there would be consequences if Rookwood died and the evidence showed Draco had attacked without provocation.

Severus had offered a scathing comment about the idiocy of the attending Aurors and wondered why any witch would mate with a lower primate to produce them.

Kingsley had smoothed ruffled feelings before wands were drawn, though Hermione was sure he was amused by the insulting comments.

The return to the Burrow had been surreal. Draco wouldn’t stray more than a few steps away from her, and she could feel his anxiety when they weren’t in physical contact. Even when the Aurors had taken their statements and copied their relevant memories she had kept her hand in his arm.

Hermione had always prided herself on her independence; especially after her trouble making friends in her younger years. Her reliance on Draco was unsettling, even as she realized he felt the same way about her proximity.

Harry and Ron were clearly not sure how to act around her, so they had resorted to treating her as though she was about to snap. When Ron offered to fetch Hermione a cup of tea as though she was an invalid, Ginny had blatantly asked what illicit brew he had been inhaling.

The pair of them hadn’t been as disturbed after the torture session at Malfoy Manor, though there had been little time to absorb what had happened before they had rushed off to break into Gringotts. She suspected that the sexual component of the attack had bothered them in a way the _Cruciatus_ never could.

Ginny was clearly feeling guilty that Hermione had been abducted, which was absurd since she was an adult who could look after herself. Even pointing out this fact had not stopped the redhead from babbling an apology at Hermione and Draco.

“I should have noticed that guy following us,” Ginny explained, “Instead of being aware of our surroundings, I was drooling over a broom.”

“Constant vigilance!” Ron offered to ease the tension.

“I did the same thing,” Hermione argued, “Even though I was bored senseless, I was lost in thought when I should have been observing who was watching us. I don’t blame you, Gin.”

“I should have been there,” Draco said quietly, “It is my duty.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “I am not some errant toddler who needs constant supervision. You can both stop blaming yourselves before I get really annoyed.”

“We should all be really careful until all the Death Eaters have been rounded up,” Harry offered, “We’re going to be targets for a long, long time.”

“Those Death Eaters should be careful,” Ron added, “If Hermione can do that with a wandless, scrubbing spell they won’t want to imagine what she could do while she has a wand in her hand.”

Arthur had informed them that the damage Hermione had inflicted had left Rookwood with only one testicle. Even though Ron had cringed at the thought, no-one had any sympathy for the man.

Ginny smiled at the memory, “And Rookwood has halved his chance of every siring children.”


	68. Grimmauld Place

The week following the abduction passed slowly for Hermione. She had three separate panic attacks and woke screaming four times.

Draco was the definition of patience; holding her until she regained her composure and listening to her fears. It didn’t take his mate long to realize he shared them.

Hermione appreciated his presence and comfort, yet his reluctance to engage in physical intimacy confused her. Kissing was allowed, but his hands didn’t wander anymore. Previously their activities had remained above the waist (except when she had teased him that morning), which she was comfortable with.

After rescuing her from Rookwood and Nott, his hands remained firmly above her clothing.

“I’m going to accept the Transfiguration Apprenticeship,” Hermione said over breakfast in late June, “I’m not sure about teaching as a career, though.”

Ron grinned, “I’m going to accept the Care of Magical Creatures one. I might head into Auror training afterwards.”

Ginny beamed at her brother, “Good. I was scared you’d start chasing Dark Wizards and end up in pieces.”

“Have some faith in me, Gin,” Ron chided.

“We would be walking targets if we became Aurors,” Harry added.

“So, you’re taking up the Defence Apprenticeship?” Ginny asked excitedly.

Harry nodded, and blushed when Ginny threw her arms around him and snogged him thoroughly.

“I’m eating here!” George protested, “Seriously Gin, I get this urge to drag you off to a safe house where no males can get to you when you do that.”

“George, I’ll be of age in less than a month. Why don’t you find a girlfriend to keep you busy in the meantime?”

“I think I need to remain right here to make sure you lot don’t end up in an orgy in the living room,” George retorted.

Ron snorted, “As if.”

“You’d head to the Greengrass Manor at the drop of a hat if Daphne so much as winked at you,” Draco laughed.

“Too right!” Ron agreed, before his face fell, “Damn, I just agreed with Malfoy.”

“We all knew it would happen one day,” Draco laughed.

Ginny squeezed Harry’s thigh under the table, “Will I have to call you Professor?” she cooed at him.

Harry blushed, “Down girl; or I’ll give you a detention.”

“You promise?” Ginny giggled.

“I’m going to vomit,” George groaned.

Within seconds Harry and Ginny were alone at the table.

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Ron and George headed to the shop for the day. Hermione suggested a broom ride, which prompted Draco to agree immediately. He loved flying and was pleased that Hermione was willing to build her confidence in the air.

“Thank Merlin for cushioning charms,” Hermione muttered as she slung her leg over the broom. Draco did the same and shifted close, so his chest was against her back.

“I swear, Quidditch would be banned without cushioning charms,” Hermione continued, “Every player would lose the ability to have kids.”

“There are quite a few who should never reproduce, not matter what they do,” Draco mused, “Marcus Flint for example.”

“I can’t believe Hestia is going to marry him,” Hermione agreed.

“Maybe she likes trolls?”

“Ron joked that Flora could marry Goyle so they could breed a new colony.”

Draco manoeuvred the broom into the air while Hermione clung to his forearms in terror and kept her eyes tightly shut. In hindsight, her plan was stupid.

“Where do you want to fly to?”

“The tallest tree in the scruffy little forest,” Hermione replied. Ginny had recommended it as out of the way, relatively spacious and private.

She had silenced the redhead before she could describe what had occurred in the tree with Harry.

Hermione forced her eyes open as the broom slowed. She pointed at the centre of the tree, where all the branches met to create a sturdy platform.

She levitated a leaf into the largest space and transfigured it into a mattress.

“So, how long have you been planning to lure me out here?” Draco joked as Hermione awkwardly dismounted the broom.

“A few days,” she replied easily. She stretched out with a sigh; she still hated flying.

Just over three weeks had passed since the Veela heritage had emerged; Draco recognised the determined set of her features easily enough.

“Well; I am at your mercy,” Draco joked.

Hermione sat down across from him with her legs crossed, “Is that a promise?”

Draco was abruptly reminded that the witch watching him intently could have been a superb Slytherin had she been willing to lie about her heritage.

“I suspect I have always been at your mercy.”

“Your pretty words are not enough to distract me,” Hermione said casually, “You have been treating me differently since I was kidnapped, and I would like to know why.”

Draco felt his shoulders slump under the observation of her hazel eyes.

“I can feel your reluctance to touch me as easily as your anxiety when you don’t,” she said simply, “Please talk to me.”

Draco wasn’t sure how to verbalise his fears. She had been through a terrible ordeal and with each movement he risked traumatising her further.

“I don’t want you to fear me,” he admitted quietly, “I couldn’t bear the thought of reaching for you, only to have you flinch away.”

Hermione could sense they had reached a pivotal point in their relationship. He was revealing a vulnerability which left the power in her hands with little prompting. She couldn’t articulate how proud of his she was.

Draco was not expecting her to climb onto his lap and kiss his thoroughly, but he wasn’t going to complain.

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_Dear Professor McGonagall,_

_I will be returning to Hogwarts to finish my Seventh Year as requested. There are, however, some issues which you need to be aware of before then. Due to the nature of this pending discussion, I would like to invite you to Grimmauld Place so we can speak in person._

_Is Wednesday the 1 st of July a suitable day for you? Any time which suits you will be acceptable._

_Regards_

_Draco Malfoy_

Minerva read the polite request twice before reaching for her quill to reply. If nothing else, the day would be entertaining.

Malcolm was in his element hosting a family gathering. His children and nephew were all adults and many of them had children of their own.

Minerva enjoyed spending time with the family, though the longing to return to Hogwarts was always present.

The First Wizarding War had claimed the life of their brother Robbie, and Malcolm had taken in his son without hesitation. Minerva did not regret being childless; her niece and nephews were as precious as any child could have been.

Severus Snape always came to mind when she contemplated her family; she always regretted that she had not recognised how badly he needed parental support until he re-joined Hogwarts as a Professor.

When he died, she mourned for him as a mother would. Finding out he had been on their side all along had wounded her more than any spell or weapon ever could have. She wished she had been brave enough to let him know how much he meant to her.

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“Welcome to Grimmauld Place,” Potter said casually as Draco stepped out of the fireplace.

The shrieking of an extremely ugly portrait stopped Draco from replying. Ginny rolled her eyes at the noise while Hermione ignored it completely.

“Think of it as a family reunion!” Potter yelled above the variety of insults being screamed, “Mrs Black; this is Draco Malfoy.”

The sudden silence was a welcome relief. A pair of watery eyes widened in excitement.

“Draco?” the ugly woman in the portrait cooed, “Narcissa’s boy?”

Draco stepped closer to the portrait; she reminded him of a Banshee. He had the faint memory of Walburga Black being far more pleasant to look at when he was a small child.

“Pleased to meet you, Grandaunt Walburga,” he greeted formally, “I am sorry I haven’t visited since I was young.”

“Draco! Oh, finally! Please tell me you are going to drive the filth out of my house and fill it with respectable, pureblood children again!”

“I don’t think I can do that, Auntie,” Draco mused while Potter, Weaslette and Hermione watched with interest, “But maybe we could move you into Malfoy Manor? There are plenty of other portraits you could socialise with.”

Walburga ran one gnarled finger across her skin thoughtfully, “I will consider the offer. How is your father going? He was always a pompous twit, but his breeding was impeccable.”

Ginny was giggling madly at that pronouncement.

“He took off to escape with his Death Eater pals and generally be a waste of space,” Draco replied with a frown.

Walburga nodded, “You know, his father Abraxas courted me for a short while; even with his bloodline he was the dullest man I ever met. Frankly, I think he was trying to hide his attraction to men.”

Draco tried not to laugh at the description of his grandfather; Narcissa had once made a similar comment and Lucius had pretended not to hear her.

“Then he married a young French pureblood with the personality of a dying cat; she could make the owls flee in terror when she was angry.”

Potter was openly sniggering while Weasley was gaping in shock. Hermione had her lips pressed together tightly to suppress her laughter.

“Have you been presented with a list of suitable brides?” Walburga continued, “Even Lucius couldn’t be incompetent enough to forget that.”

“I don’t get a choice,” Draco informed her, “I inherited the Veela gene and transitioned earlier this month.”

Walburga narrowed her lips, “That could be problematic.”

“If my mate is not pureblood, will you hate me?” Draco wondered.

“Let’s hope she is a pureblood,” Walburga replied haughtily, “Centuries of selective breeding have culminated in you, young man, and should not be wasted.”

“They also produced Aunt Bella,” Draco pointed out, “And she was nuttier than a handful of peanuts.”

The glare he received would have cowed other members of the household.

“And don’t give me that look; I know the sticking charm used on your portrait and I know that I am one of the only people who can successfully use the silencing spell on you. Don’t make me say it.”

“What does your mother think about this Veela development?” Walburga asked snootily.

“She approves of my mate and wants me to be happy.”

“You _do_ know who she is!” Walburga cried, “Oh dear, who is she?”

Draco held out his arm to beckon Hermione forward. As soon as the brunette tucked herself next to Draco the portrait began to scream.

Draco silenced her and pulled the curtains shut.

“Where were you years ago?” Harry asked, “We’ve been trying to shut her up since Fifth Year.”

Draco allowed Hermione to draw him into the living room, “Only close blood relatives can use that spell on her,” he explained, “I wasn’t sure if it would work for me actually.”

“Well, since it did, there is an entire section of the library that I want you to see,” Harry said thoughtfully, “When I touch any of the books, they burn my hand.”

“Malfoy Manor has a section like that too,” Draco said thoughtfully, “There were a couple of interesting books about family developed-spells, but the rest were family history going back to the Norman invasion. I swear the writer must have been related to Binns, as it was the most boring text I have ever come across.”

Ginny looked disappointed, “I was hoping some juicy Black secrets were in there. Now I’m expecting literature on marrying your cousins and a how to create irritating life-sized portraits.”

“There was also a recipe for chicken broth hidden under three enchantments,” Draco recalled, “No idea why.”

Harry gave Draco a quick tour of the place. Kreature had worked hard to spruce the place up, but it still felt quite dreary.

Hermione and Ginny disappeared into the kitchen. Instead of letting him follow them, Potter insisted he look over the section of the library he was worried about.


	69. Family Legacy

Seeing Professor Snape alive had shocked Ginny, though the emergency occurring at the time had overshadowed it.

Memories of his year as Headmaster still haunted her nightmares. He had been so disinterested in the cruelties the Carrows had heaped upon the students that he had been easy to hate

Only when the ordeal was over did she realize how often he had stepped in to personally ‘punish’ certain students when one of the Carrows was on the verge of killing them; in his own way, he had saved their lives. The disdainful sneer and infuriating comments were both powerful in distracting everyone from the heroics which were obvious in hindsight.

The House Elves could have been ordered to stop providing food while they were hiding in the Room of Requirement, yet they never failed to deliver a meal. When she had asked Professor McGonagall about it, she had revealed that only the Headmaster could order the elves to do something on such a grand scale.

Neville had been one of the first to take refuge in the Room of Requirement; he had never found out who had sent Winky the elf to snatch him out of a corridor between classes, deposit him in front of the familiar stretch of wall and shove a note informing him that he had been marked for death into his hand.

Ginny suspected that if she asked Snape directly he would neither confirm nor deny his involvement. It was Luna who had wondered aloud why the Headmaster had stopped using silencing charms to muffle his footsteps.

Luna had dropped multiple hints that Snape was on their side, yet her dreamy demeanour made her easy to dismiss in the face of popular opinion. Ginny was looking forward to seeing what the Ravenclaw would say or do when she discovered the wizard was alive again.

“You have that scary look on your face,” Hermione said to the redhead, “I really do not want to know why you and Harry spent an hour in the forest yesterday. Do not tell me.”

Ginny grinned, remembering her time alone with her fiancée. Hermione was correct; she did not want to know what the pair had been up to.

“I wasn’t planning to share juicy details of any forest activities,” Ginny revealed, “Unless you change your mind and want some ideas; not that you need suggestions.”

Hermione frowned as she put the kettle on, “What are you implying?”

“Nothing; but you and Draco disappeared into the forest for quite a while the other day. Those Veela instincts will be driving some naughty thoughts; is there anything you need to share?”

Hermione shook her head, “Even if we had made serious progress, talking about it seems wrong.”

Ginny grinned, “You two are sweet.”

“I like that adjective,” Hermione agreed, “It’s better than ‘nauseating’, which was the only comment Harry could make when he caught me and Draco snogging the other day.”

“Well, it would be creepy if he enjoyed being a voyeur.”

“Especially with that Invisibility Cloak.”

“Did you see Ron this morning? He was fussing in front of the mirror to make sure his hair looked ‘presentable’.”

Hermione smiled at the image, “I missed that. I’m glad he’s so smitten with Daphne; I’d hate for him to feel like a fifth wheel and end up resenting Draco.”

“Daphne’s a bit weird though, don’t you think?” Ginny asked as she moved to the table with her mug.

“Weird how?”

Ginny shrugged, “Not like Fleur, though the blondeness is there. I mean, that she doesn’t want any career at all; her ambition is to have babies.”

“Have you asked your mum? She chose the same path and seems rather happy wit hit.”

Ginny stared down at her cup of tea, “I want a few kids too, but not right away. I get the impression that Daphne would skip going back to Hogwarts in favour of getting married and pregnant.”

Hermione shrugged, “Why does it worry you?”

Ginny shrugged, “I guess it makes me question my choices.”

Hermione pushed aside her reluctance to offer her own opinion, “I think it’s rather sad,” she admitted softly.

“Sad? In what way?”

“That she has been conditioned to assume her role in life is to pop out babies. If she was a half-blood or something, she would have been given a choice, but her background has trapped her. Who knows what potential she is throwing away?”

“Do you think my mum did the same thing?”

Hermione shrugged, “I don’t know; though from what she has said, her parents weren’t traditional, strict pureblood parents who brainwash their kids. If she considered both options and chose a family, I respect her choice. I suspect Daphne was never allowed to consider any other future.”

“She suits Ron,” Ginny mused, “He is always surprised by the idea that a witch might prioritise a career over family.”

“It’s good we didn’t get together; I’d give him kids only if he stayed home to raise them while I sent to work,” Hermione added.

Ginny grinned, “I’m trying to imagine Ron changing nappies; he can barely dress himself.”

“He’s not that bad,” Hermione said weakly.

Ginny made a dismissive noise, “I hope it works out with Daphne; she has House Elves. Without them, he’d wear the same clothes for a week and come to the Burrow for every meal.”

“I doubt Molly would mind feeding him,” Hermione said with a smile, “She wants to keep you around for as long as possible too.”

“Don’t remind me,” Ginny groaned, “She interrogated me yesterday; now I have a year’s supply of contraceptive potions to take to Hogwarts.”

“At least she didn’t use the fake willy this time.”

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Draco held open a thick, dusty book and wore a scowl of disapproval. Harry peered over to see what he was looking at.

“More marrying cousins?” Harry guessed.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Draco confirmed, “Apparently matching first cousins was a good way to arrange marriages. No wonder Bella was crazy.”

“Thank goodness they didn’t make Sirius marry her,” Harry muttered.

“They did try to contract Regulus to my mother,” Draco mused, “Even Walburga recognised that Sirius wasn’t completely stable.”

“Excuse me?” Harry cried, “Just because he was in Gryffindor -”

“Don’t start a pissing match, Potter,” Draco snapped, “Sirius Black was a reckless fool who should have been arrested for attempted murder when he was sixteen. If you can’t accept that, you might have a bit of the Black madness too.”

Harry spluttered something incomprehensible, which Draco simply ignored.

“Harry, Draco; Professor McGonagall is here,” Ginny called.

Harry glared at the blonde as he left the room. Ginny held out her hand to him sympathetically; she had heard every word.

Hermione empathised with the anguish Harry was feeling, even though she agreed with Draco’s opinion. She knew her friend had been so desperate for a parental figure that he had overlooked any character faults immediately; even now he refused to see them.

Draco greeted Professor McGonagall politely and invited her to take a seat while Kreatcher provided tea and biscuits.

“I was intrigued by your letter, Mr Malfoy,” the Professor said once the greetings had been exchanged.

“Please call me Draco,” the blonde said with a tight smile, “I am seriously considering changing my surname to Black to avoid the association with Lucius.”

While the conversation continued between Draco and the Professor, Hermione was observing Ginny try to calm Harry down.

“Sirius was not crazy!” Harry insisted, “You agree with me, right?”

“He wasn’t crazy,” Hermione said flatly, “But his judgement was clearly impaired by his reckless nature and rigid view of the world.”

Before Harry could explode in anger, Ginny rested one hand on his arm, “She’s right. Sirius always treated Snape as an enemy, and now that we know their history it was wrong.”

“Snape wasn’t an innocent victim!” Harry insisted hotly.

“No; but with odds of four against one he was clearly the victim of bullying,” Hermione clarified, “I can also understand why Snape treated Sirius so disdainfully; the man tried to kill him and never showed a speck of remorse.”

“What?!”

The three of them forgot their discussion to see Professor McGonagall in the doorway wearing an expression of horrified disbelief.

“When did Sirius try to kill Severus?” she demanded.

Behind her, Draco shifted uncomfortably. He knew he was going to pay for this later.

“When Sirius lured Uncle Sev down to the Shrieking Shack in their Fifth Year, at Full Moon,” Draco explained.

“My dad saved him,” Harry added, “He got a School Service Award or something.”

“Dear Merlin!” McGonagall exclaimed, “Albus lied to me!”

“He was good at that,” Hermione muttered darkly.

“What was the official story?” Draco asked curiously.

Minerva sat down heavily on the lounge, looking her age for the first time since she had taken four stunners to the chest.

“Sirius had followed Lupin to the Shack and nearly got himself killed. James saved him. I was never even told that Severus was involved!” the older witch moaned.

Harry shuffled from one foot to the other, as uncomfortable with emotions as he had been in First Year, “Well, since he came back, you can explain it to him. I’m sure he’ll understand -”

Professor McGonagall surged to her feet, “Who came back? From where?”

Draco gently shifted Hermione behind his body just in case there was an angry explosion of magic.

“Professor Snape came back through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries on the night of the Summer Solstice,” Ginny explained bravely, “He doesn’t want any publicity until he is officially cleared of all charges.”

“After I finish screaming at a certain portrait in my office, I will be having a long chat with a certain Potions Master,” Minerva decided aloud. Her gaze fell on the blonde who was watching her warily; there was something distinctly strange about the Slytherin.

“But first, I believe we have some ‘issues’ to discuss?” she said to Draco. She regained her composure quickly by drawing on her teaching persona. The knowledge that Severus was alive was invigorating; she planned to say everything she should have years ago.

Minerva listened with growing concern as Draco explained the attack at Malfoy Manor and his awakening at the Burrow. When Hermione sat down next to the young man and touched his back reassuringly, the eyebrows of the older witch shot upwards.

Minerva had always been quite fond of Miss Granger; she saw a lot of herself in the witch. Draco Malfoy, on the other hand, had always been a spoiled little prat desperately trying to emulate his father. It was hard to remain impartial when she could see Lucius Malfoy reflected in his nauseating progeny.

The conversation itself wasn’t as interesting as the body language they were displaying. Ginny stood in the doorway watching the three interact with interest. Harry had retreated to the library to mutter to himself and kick the air like a child and she was not inclined to follow him.

Ginny could see the mother-daughter relationship between the Professor and her favourite student. She smiled at the addition of Draco as the boyfriend with an unsavoury past.

The older witch was clearly unimpressed by the prospect of her favourite student returning with the Slytherin in tow. Draco sat upright to project confidence but the arm around Hermione was far too tense to make the display believable.

Ginny noticed the way McGonagall pursed her lips when the Veela issue was revealed; the reputation of the potential for violence in an unmated Veela had been spread far and wide.

“Hermione is my mate,” Draco was saying, “I can control the instincts if she is close by, and not threatened.”

Minerva regarded Hermione carefully; the young witch was calm and quite accepting. A month previously, she had been dating Ronal Weasley; Mr Malfoy must have been quite convincing to win her over.

“Well, I can make sure you have your own room,” she conceded to the Slytherin, “And now I understand why Albus has been prattling on about a male Veela in the eleventh century. I am thankful you have found your mate, Mr Malfoy. Albus has been talking about that Veela impregnating half the females in the graduating class.”

Ginny was giggling so much she almost missed the Professor asking about the silent portrait.

“I assume Walburga made sure Sirius had no power over her portrait,” Hermione answered.

Draco offered to lift the silencing spell, if the woman agreed to refrain from screeching at them. She nodded stiffly.

“Sirius was a disappointment from the day he was Sorted,” Walburga said imperiously, “I laughed when he was sent to Azkaban; only a complete moron would believe he would betray his precious Potter. If the Mudblood girl wasn’t in the picture, I would have sworn they fancied each other.”


	70. Fearless Teddy

Two days after the meeting at Grimmauld Place Draco found he was nervous about the Friday night dinner with his mother and aunt.

For the first time, Severus was also invited.

Hermione thought he was being silly and told him as much. The Weasley family was very accepting, and the true motives of the former Potions professor were still being applauded daily in the Prophet.

Draco didn’t care if Uncle Sev was wearing the Order of Merlin and overdosing on cheering charms; he was still a sarcastic git at the best of time and his sense of humour took years to get used to.

Narcissa had taken years to warm to Severus, and Draco feared that the atmosphere could become very tense if the wrong topic came up while Andromeda was within hearing range; she had been very fond of Remus Lupin.

Severus, on the other hand, still resented the bullying the deceased werewolf had condoned with his inaction. Draco had overheard at least one rant at Malfoy Manor when his godfather had gotten into the Firewhiskey which confirmed that the grudge still held fast.

Severus had faced his terror of the werewolf when Lupin had been teaching Defence; only to have the trauma repeated when the irresponsible git had forgotten to take his monthly potion. The final straw had been Black escaping that night; Lupin had been so damn smug about it that Severus had wanted to punch him in the face.

Draco had heard his father condemning the werewolf for failing to reveal the animagus abilities of Black, even after he had broken into the Gryffindor dorm. Severus had voiced the opinion that Dumbledore had known that information the whole damn time.

Hermione paused thoughtfully when Draco summarised that night of eavesdropping.

“I was always suspicious of that,” she admitted with a sigh, “With all those portraits reporting to him, how could he not know about a stag, a dog and a rat running around with a werewolf? Surely the moment Lupin escaped from the Shack, wards must have alerted him.”

“I wonder if there was another stupid prophecy that a bullying Gryffindor prat would lead to the defeat of Voldemort,” Draco snorted.

“Dumbledore put far too much faith into the prophecy about Harry,” Hermione agreed, “Free will affects everything; surely prophecies are proved false all the time due to some unknown decision changing the future.”

Draco held out his arm to escort Hermione into the house, “Well, I don’t care if Merlin himself comes through the veil to prophesise something; I’m ignoring it.”

“A sensible plan. What if Remus comes up in conversation?” Hermione asked tentatively.

“Hide behind me so you don’t get hexed,” Draco advised. He was not surprised by the way she rolled her eyes at him.

No-one else in the Burrow seemed to be concerned that the light-hearted gathering could turn nasty. Even Arthur, who had seen Severus draw his wand faster than the eye could follow, was his usual cheerful self.

“Do we have to call Snape ‘Professor’?” Ron was asking as Molly fussed over his hair.

“Call him ‘Sir’,” Molly said flatly, “He is no longer a Professor, nor has he given you permission to use his first name.”

“Or Mr Snape,” Arthur added.

“I dare you to call him ‘Uncle Sev’,” Harry laughed to his friend.

“I double-dare you to call him that,” Ron retorted.

“Neither of you will antagonise Severus,” Molly ordered sharply.

“How come you get to use his name?” Ron whined.

“We have his consent,” Arthur explained.

Ginny was the only one who appeared apprehensive about spending time with the former Headmaster. She was quite withdrawn and tense.

Draco whispered to Hermione that they would have to keep an eye on Weaslette.

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Thadius Nott was a very patient man. He had survived both the Wizarding Wars of the twentieth century and still retained his freedom and his mind.

His parents had instilled in him the values of a good little pureblood well before he received his letter from Hogwarts. He had also learned that the real power in a pureblood marriage would always lie with whoever had the galleons.

His father, Thorus Nott, had received a small inheritance when his parents handed over the ancestral home so they could spend their retirement travelling the world. He had married the richest, pureblood wife he could secure; Dorothy Max.

Thadius grew up watching his mother dominate his father simply because her superior bank balance remained in her control even after her marriage. Though he was fond of his parents, he did not agree with the dynamics of their relationship.

When he attended Hogwarts, he found a kindred spirit in the charming Tom Riddle. He admired the half-blood’s ability to manipulate those around him with careful words. While Riddle shared many of the same beliefs as Thadius, the pureblood preferred to be the power behind the throne. He would never openly contradict Riddle, as he knew his opinions would be carefully considered in private.

Thadius did not believe Muggles and Muggle-borns needed to be exterminated; they needed to be used. While purebloods needed to be the Feudal Lords, those with dirty blood would make up the peasant-class in the future Thadius imagined. Half-bloods would occupy a middle ground and have some opportunity to improve their station as Riddle had.

Thadius avoided an arranged marriage by appealing to his mother’s romantic notions of ‘love’. Once Riddle took on the mask of ‘Lord Voldemort’, Thadius arranged an accident which left him an orphan and heir to enough galleons to live comfortably. When his grandparents returned, he had them killed and blamed the Order of the Phoenix.

Using Malfoy for his gold had always been part of the plan, and Lucius was as easy to manipulate as his father Abraxas. Thadius knew that being one of the Dark Lord’s favourites was akin to painting a target on his back so he had requested to be treated as a regular follower. He had watched Malfoy, Snape and even Bellatrix rise in favour and suffer dishonour, death or both.

The second rise of the Dark Lord had been an unwelcome shock; not only had Thadius accepted that his friend was gone forever, but the thing that returned was only a vague echo of the original.

Splitting his soul had been the fatal mistake for Lord Voldemort. Thadius examined the small stone in his hand thoughtfully as he wondered if Riddles’ soul was complete in death.

The Resurrection Stone sat on his palm.

The information on the Resurrection Stone was unreliable at best; most was gleaned from speculation in the Daily Prophet.

Thadius was concerned that if he recalled Tom and the twisted, crazy version of Voldemort returned he would not be able to get rid of the pesky spirit.

“What do you think, Lucius?” Thadius asked aloud.

The blonde man was huddled on the floor in the cell at the far side of the room.

“It would be a risk to bring back the Dark Lord,” Thadius continued, “At worst, he would be the raving nutcase which rose in 1995. At best, he would be the sane and devious man who existed when his soul was intact. After the first Horcrux he was still himself; the second one was clearly detrimental.”

Lucius blinked up at the man who he had dismissed as a minor player among the Death Eaters. Only after he had been kidnapped from the Manor did he recognise the danger posed by Thadius Nott.

“Either way, I have no further use for you Lucius. It was nice taking your gold, but clearly you are a liability; you didn’t even tell me that your heir is a bloody Veela. I am curious to know what other secrets you are concealing.”

Lucius watched the dark-haired man approach with growing terror.

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Severus Snape did not like parties. Most people were irritating due to their lack of common sense; adding alcohol to the mix only made the problem worse.

Narcissa was charming and she knew when to give him space. Andromeda learned the same tactics quickly, though she wore a cheeky smirk and made comments about his need to brood in private. He wasn’t sure what to make of her behaviour.

Teddy was as bland as all babies Severus had encountered in the past; at least the presence of Linna the House Elf ensured that the infant was always clean and quiet.

“You look as approachable as a Manticore giving birth,” Andromeda decided as she sank into the seat next to him, “Do you practise that dismissive expression on the mirror, or does it come naturally?”

“It’s a gift,” Severus drawled.

Linna popped into existence next to Andromeda. She held out Teddy and announced he was freshly changed and in need of a cuddle.

“Thank-you, Linna,” Andromeda said with a smile, “With Narcissa here, I feel like I never get to cuddle my grandson anymore.”

“I heard that!” Narcissa yelled from the kitchen.

“Shush up and bring the wine!” Andromeda laughed.

Severus eyed the infant warily; the son of the werewolf always gazed at him adoringly and it was quite disturbing.

“Do you want to hold him?” Andromeda asked cheekily.

“Does he bite?” Severus asked casually.

“The Black blood is strong in him,” Andromeda replied tartly, “We only bite when asked to.”

Narcissa noticed the slightest smile on the face of the stern Potions Master and grinned knowingly. Linna was sure there was a mutual attraction between the two of them, and Narcissa was delighted to see that her House Elf was correct.

Severus had to admit he found Andromeda very interesting; he recognised some of her mannerisms from his interactions with both of her sisters, yet she remained a charming mix of the two and something more. Even better, she was a full five years older than him, so he didn’t have any memories of her as a student except as an unobtrusive presence during his school days.

Andromeda placed her grandson on the lap of the stern wizard while suppressing a smile. He wasn’t as scary as he tried to be.

Severus sat so stiffly his back ached. His hands hovered in case the child fell off his unstable perch.

Big, blue eyes stared up at Severus before darkening to the deep brown the older wizard had.

“I told you he likes you,” Narcissa said happily to Severus.

Teddy’s hair grew at an astonishing rate until it brushed his shoulders. The colour also darkened to an inky black.

Andromeda tied her grandson’s hair back to mimic the way Severus had his hair arranged.

“Don’t encourage him,” Severus sighed, “The sooner he learns to fear me, the better.”

Narcissa snorted, a distinctly un-ladylike sound, “There is more to life than being feared, Severus,” she admonished.

“Children are not predictable,” Severus pointed out with a frown.

Teddy giggled and reached for the hooked nose of the wizard he was mimicking.

“He certainly is brave,” Andromeda mused as Severus swiftly picked up her grandson and returned him to her arms.

“And he is ruining my image,” Severus added, “How can I maintain my reputation with him trying to stick his hands up my nose?”

“I’m sure you would manage somehow,” Narcissa mused.

“Why is he looking at me like that?” Severus asked.

“I keep telling you; he likes you,” Andromeda laughed.

Teddy made a delighted noise at gaining the attention of the dark-haired man. His nose contorted until he could be mistaken for a mini-Severus.

“That is rather disturbing,” Severus decided.

“I think he looks rather cute,” Andromeda mused, “Don’t you agree Teddy?”

Teddy laughed and waved his hand at his grandmother.

“With that nose?” Severus scoffed, “It’s bad enough that I have to see it every day.”

“It suits your face,” Narcissa argued, “Without it, you’d look weird.”

“You don’t want to be a noseless weirdo like Voldemort,” Andromeda added.

“Lacking a nose was the least of _his_ problems,” Severus muttered.

Teddy lunged forward again.


	71. Dinner with Friends

Draco stepped through the floo and collided with Potter’s back.

“What the hell? Get out of the bloody way!” he growled.

Potter stepped aside without saying a word.

“Don’t be so rude, Draco,” Narcissa admonished.

“Can I be just a little rude?”

Draco caught sight of the scene which had rendered Potter speechless and unable to step out of the way of half a dozen people arriving through the fireplace.

Severus Snape sat on the lounge next to Andromeda. Teddy Lupin was squirming in his lap sporting dark eyes and black hair tied back in an uncanny imitation of the Potions Master. Severus met the gaze of his godson stoically, as though he held miniature version of himself every day.

Draco realized that the infant had even copied the hooked nose. Though amusing, he was not brave enough to even smile in amusement.

Ginny thumped into Potter’s back and said something which drew another reprimand from Narcissa. Draco caught her arm to steady her and she was quick to guide her shocked fiancée out of the way. George and Hermione were only seconds behind the youngest Weasley. Only when they were brushing off soot did Ginny look over to see what the problem was.

Hermione was distracted by Ginny and Ron rolling on the floor while laughing uncontrollably. Within seconds, George had joined them. Potter simply gaped at his godson in the lap of a man rumoured to hang from the rafters as he slept.

Draco watched the dark eyes narrow at the hysterical redheads

“I was going to apologize for damaging your ear,” Severus said pointedly to George, “Now, I don’t think I’ll bother; your brain has clearly been affected beyond repair.”

George only laughed harder.

Narcissa herded the newcomers away from the fireplace until they were dispersed around the room in a semblance of a casual gathering. George was the last one to continue sniggering.

“Ow!” George cried.

Draco watched with a grin as his mother caught George by his remaining ear and dragged him into the kitchen. He recognised that expression from his youth; the redhead was in for a lecture. He had never figured out how his mother managed to remain so poised while she had an ear tightly pinched between her perfectly manicured fingers.

Severus looked oddly smug.

“Are you finished getting the children in trouble with Narcissa?” Andromeda asked the wizard directly.

Draco could have sworn he saw the edge of a smile on the face of his godfather.

“You wound me,” Severus replied haughtily while handing Teddy back to his grandmother. Andromeda tweaked her grandson’s nose, which caused him to cackle loudly.

“I’m not hearing a denial,” Hermione commented with a smile.

“Irritating teenagers is an ingrained habit by now,” Draco offered from next to her, “Uncle Sev wouldn’t know how to be civil.”

“You’re conscious, aren’t you?” Severus countered easily.

“Of course, they are,” Andromeda teased, “How can you verbally eviscerate someone who is unconscious?”

“Teddy; bite your grandmother,” Severus instructed, “She knows too much.”

Teddy stuck his fist into his mouth to drool on it, instead.

“So disobedient already,” Draco commented lightly, “He is learning fast.”

“Children are always more tolerable before they are born,” Severus mused, “Even after puberty, they retain the ability to speak before they think. I have yet to come up with a potion to cure that.”

Potter regained his wits long enough to close his mouth. Draco watched the wizard consider his words, and the lines on his forehead made the Veela wonder if such deep contemplation hurt the Gryffindor’s head.

“Professor,” Potter began hesitantly.

“I am no longer your teacher, Mr Potter.”

“Somehow, I’m not comfortable calling you by your first name,” Potter admitted, “I just wanted to ask if my mum was still nearby?”

“She bid me farewell a few hours ago,” Severus replied with a twinge of sadness, “She plans to gather her energy before becoming visible long enough to speak to you sometime within the next week.”

Draco avoided looking at the raven-haired wizard, so he didn’t have to see any mushy display of emotion; his tolerance for that was limited to his mate.

Hermione kept an eye on Harry, Ron and Ginny. They remained silent during the conversation, though they were clearly listening to every word. She wasn’t too worried about the boys; Ginny was her priority. After living under Snape’s tenure as Headmaster for a year she had reason to hate him.

Ginny was holding Harry’s hand to offer comfort. Somehow, holding onto him gave her the courage to voice the question she had been burning to ask.

“Did you send Winky to warn Neville?” Ginny asked suddenly.

Severus turned to the young woman with his features carefully expressionless, “I would like to hear your opinion before I confirm or deny anything.”

Ginny felt Harry squeeze her hand, “Luna dropped hints for months; and the House Elves kept feeding us. You could have starved us out of the Room of Requirement.”

“Miss Lovegood is far more perceptive than anyone gives her credit for,” Severus said enigmatically.

“Uncle Sev is confirming your suspicion without bluntly saying he saved Longbottom’s life,” Draco translated, “We’re dealing with Gryffindors; you need to be direct.”

“I was a Slytherin,” Andromeda pointed out.

Narcissa re-entered the room regally; followed by a redhead who showed no remorse whatsoever. He winked at Draco and mouthed, ‘She touched me!’ while wiggling his eyebrows maniacally.

“You are braver than most people in the world,” Narcissa pointed out to her sister, “You broke the betrothal to Thadius Nott by announcing your pregnancy to a muggle-born wizard. I can still remember Father throwing curses while you dodged and screamed at him to do something physically impossible.”

Andromeda shrugged, “He deserved it; I was the perfect pureblood daughter for sixteen years and he rewarded me by promising me to that old arse.”

“Still, you were foolishly brave,” Narcissa continued, “Did the Sorting Hat try to put you in Gryffindor?”

“That is none of your business,” Andromeda replied snootily.

“It tried to put me in Gryffindor,” Severus admitted with a frown, “After seeing Black and Potter end up there, I was not impressed by the idea.”

“It wanted to put me in Slytherin,” Harry piped up.

Severus regarded him thoughtfully, “I think that hat has lost any mind it might have been created with; no-one is more Gryffindor than you.”

“That almost sounded like a compliment,” Draco laughed.

“It wasn’t,” Severus assured him.

“Your brand of compliment reminds me of muggle curry,” Andromeda mused, “Fine when you’re in the mood, but it will burn you if you have too much.”

“We tried curry,” Narcissa added, “Do your compliments assist with constipation too, Severus? The lady at the counter thought it was funny that I had never had curry before.”

Severus was glaring at Narcissa, “Sadly, I doubt any words could have that effect,” he decided, “After all, I spent plenty of time with Lucius and he was always full of shit.”

“Not in front of Teddy,” Andromeda admonished.

Severus regarded the infant warily, “His father spent years around terrible influences, and still remained mostly tolerable.”

“His mother repeated every curse word she heard, usually at special occasions to cause the most embarrassment,” Andromeda added.

George was grinning as he watched the exchange.

“Don’t even think about it, George,” Ginny warned.

“Think about what?”

“Teaching Teddy to say all sorts of inappropriate things,” Narcissa provided.

George slumped back into the couch with a sigh, “Since when am I so predictable?”

“You have a tell,” Narcissa revealed.

“What is it?”

She smiled innocently, “And lose my advantage? Never.”

“Narcissa, are you flirting with the boy?” Severus asked incredulously.

“Would I do that?”

“Of course, you bloody would. George; you may have faced Death Eaters and an enraged Molly Weasley but you are not prepared to tangle with a daughter of the House of Black,” Severus intoned.

George grinned mischievously, “Andromeda; have you snogged Snapey yet? The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a sword.”

“Call me that again, you one-eared cretin, and I will ensure you end up impotent by your next birthday,” Severus growled.

Andromeda dropped one hand onto his knee, “There is no need for that, Severus. George has more manners than to try that nickname a second time.”

“How can you be sure?” George teased.

Andromeda smiled with all the poise of years of training, “You mother is going to arrive any minute now, and I’m going to tell her if you are even slightly disrespectful to Severus.”

The fear was easy to read in his expression, “Why would you do that?”

“I have been spending time with a lovely witch who you know rather well,” Andromeda said with that same coy expression, “Angelina has many things to say about you George; and she is not happy that you are avoiding her.”

“I’m not,” George muttered.

“You are,” Ron argued, “When she came into the shop you hid behind the -”

A sharp shove from Harry stopped Ron from finishing his sentence. Draco rolled his eyes at their silly behaviour.

“Angelina is a lovely young woman, and won’t wait around forever,” Narcissa chimed in.

“Speaking of lovely witches with no taste in men, I understand Daphne Greengrass has set her eyes on you, Ronald?” Severus redirected.

Ron gulped and was strongly reminded of being in Potions class, “Yes, sir.”

Draco and Hermione shared a brief, amused glance.

“You are treating her with complete respect, I assume?” Severus continued.

Draco hid a smile at how uncomfortable the redhead was. Somehow, Weasley managed to nod emphatically in response to the question.

“I suspect Daphne was sorted into Slytherin only because she knew her parents would expect it of her,” Severus mused aloud, “She was never able to conceal her emotions. Her sister, Astoria, is an entirely different matter.”

“She had a crush on Draco for years,” Narcissa agreed with a smile in his direction, “At least she has sense.”

Potter pretended to cough so he could say ‘nutcase’.

“That’s a nasty cough, Harry,” Andromeda teased, “I do hope it’s not contagious.”

“I doubt it,” Severus said dismissively, “Though I could brew something to cure it. Merlins knows I’ve wanted to spike your pumpkin juice with Veritaserum often enough.”

“Just ask; I doubt Harry has any reason to lie now that you are no longer a Professor,” Andromeda advised.

Molly and Arthur arrived as Harry was adamantly claiming he did not steal from Snape’s stores during his Second year.

Draco felt the surge of amusement from his mate moments before she spoke, “That was me; I needed the Boomslang skin to make the polyjuice potion.”

Severus cursed, which earned another reprimand from the witch sitting next to him, “Bloody Dumbledore must have known; he dropped hints about one of my students brewing NEWT-level brews early on but wouldn’t reveal who.”

“Did he have cameras all around the castle, or something?” Potter wondered.

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Electronic devices don’t work at Hogwarts.”

“All the ghosts and portraits report to the true Headmaster,” Severus informed the group, “They’re a bunch of gossips with nothing better to do.”

“The ghosts were always warning us when the Carrows’ were nearby,” Ginny recalled thoughtfully, “They saved my life so often I wondered if I had an invisible body-guard.”

“You did,” Severus confirmed, though he kept his eyes on the far wall, “Nearly-Headless Nick followed you everywhere except the dorm and the bathroom; Myrtle kept watch on all the girls ‘bathrooms.”

Potter gaped at the wizard, “Creepy.”

“Why me?” Ginny asked, “Neville was more active in the DA.”

Severus regarded the young witch with clear exasperation, “Amycus would have liked to catch you along, Miss Weasley. As the only pureblood daughter of a prominent family he could have demanded you as a bride if he raped you first.”

Ginny sank against Potter’s side while his arm held her protectively.

“I’m surprised we survived that year, let alone the Battle,” Ginny whispered.

“So am I,” the former professor agreed.


	72. Hogsmeade

Draco looked around Hogsmeade in the afternoon light. It all looked so normal; memories of Death Eaters, Dementors and terrified students were hard to associate with the quiet village.

Harry led the way into the Three Broomsticks. Ron and Hermione followed, and Draco trudged along at the back of the group. He sat next to the wall across from Potter so he could avoid being noticed right away. Hermione sat next to him and squeezed his hand reassuringly.

“Why is Stan Shunpike behind the bar?” Hermione wondered aloud.

“I guess he works here,” Potter replied with a shrug.

“Dad heard that Madam Rosmerta sold the place,” Weasley recalled, “He was surprised that she got such a good price for it.”

Their trunks, Ginny’s pygmy-puff and Weasley’s owl made a strange little display next to their booth. Draco wondered if he should consider getting a familiar.

Potter and Weasley watched while he pushed galleons at Hermione to pay for the drinks. She tried to argue that he didn’t need to pay, which just annoyed him. What was the point of being rich if she wouldn’t let him spend it on her?

She finally gave in when he threatened to buy the whole bloody village if she didn’t stop arguing. Potter and Weasley just grinned like fools as they bickered.

“Come on Ron,” Hermione ordered, “You can help me carry the butterbeers.”

“Why not make Malfoy do it?” Ron whined.

The fierce glare from Hermione silenced him soon enough.

The rest of the Eighth-Year students were not due for another hour. Draco wondered if many Slytherins were going to return or if he was going to be the only one. If they did show up, it would be as close to 5pm as possible so they didn’t have to hang around and socialise.

Hermione and Ron returned with four butterbeers and three more students. Draco forced himself not to cringe when Longbottom glared at him openly.

“What’s _he_ doing here?” Neville asked coldly, “I thought Death Eaters were supposed to be in Azkaban.”

Hermione pursed her lips in a tell-tale sign of annoyance. If no-one stepped in she was going to launch into an epic lecture.

“I was tried by the Ministry,” Draco said flatly.

“Neville -” Hermione tried to intercede.

“He was on the Torture Squad last year Hermione!” Neville exploded, making the two witches with him cringe, “He was using the _Cruciatus_ curse on First-Years!”

“Longbottom, ask any one of those kids what happened, and you’ll learn that I would point my wand, say the words and then nothing would happen. I would use Legilimency to tell them to scream bloody murder. The Carrow idiots never caught on,” Draco declared.

Neville continued to glare at the blonde, “I don’t trust you as far as I could kick you Malfoy.”

Draco shrugged, “You and half the world.”

Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones shifted nervously behind Neville. Hermione encouraged them to sit down and ignore the confrontation.

“We’ve seen enough to tolerate him,” Potter assured Longbottom, “He’s been at the Burrow for six weeks.”

“He’s still a prat,” Weasley offered, “Just, you know, toned down.”

“Your wondrous endorsements astound me,” Draco said sarcastically, “If you continue I may have to send you a Christmas card.”

“Don’t expect one back,” Weasley laughed as he took another drink of his butterbeer.

Longbottom was watching the former Death Eater with suspicion, though he didn’t make any more comments. Hermione drew the two Hufflepuff girls into a discussion about their holiday.

“I stayed with Hannah,” Susan replied, “The only family I have left are Muggles who have no idea I’m a witch, so it seemed silly to stay there.”

Draco tuned out the conversations around him. While Longbottom, Potter and Weasley started droning on about Quidditch he was wondering how many times he would be blamed for the crimes of all Death Eaters. He clung to the knowledge that he wouldn’t change anything as his actions had ensured his mother and Hermione were still alive.

As other students from their year level wandered in the scene with Longbottom was repeated. They were horrified to see him of course but he lost interest in defending himself. Surprisingly it was often Potter who cut down the accusers with short words. Hermione added a sentence here and there to assist.

Were they all so compassionate? He had thought Hermione was unique in her ability to forgive anyone until Weasley defended him against an accusation from Ernie McMillan. He suspected they all suffered from some sort of disease which forced them to be optimistic.

As expected, the Slytherin students didn’t arrive until minutes before McGonagall was due to appear. Theo and Blaise stood shoulder to shoulder as they cautiously entered the pub. Daphne and Pansy huddled together behind them.

“I guess I’ll say hello so we can all be burned at a stake together,” Draco mused to Hermione, Potter and Weasley.

Pansy, Theo and Blaise gaped when they realized Draco had been sitting with the Gryffindors. Daphne smiled, having already spent time with them.

“It’s good to see you,” Theo managed stiffly while holding out his hand. Draco shook it and pulled Theo in for a brief embrace.

“It’s good to see all of you,” Draco sighed. Blaise patted him on the back as he would not tolerate a hug from anyone who was not female and very attractive.

Daphne and Pansy hugged him at the same time. Draco patted them both on the back.

“Your back feels weird,” Pansy said worriedly, “What are you wearing under there?”

“You two agreed to be ‘just friends’,” Daphne teased, “Quit trying to get his clothes off.”

Somehow Daphne managed to shatter the tension between the group of friends with her words. They were still survivors of a war with parents who were criminals, but the echo of their childhood innocence remained.

The Headmistress arrived through the fireplace. She stood tall and surveyed the students who watched her thoughtfully. She appeared tired, yet her appearance had changed little since they had seen her for the first time at the age of eleven.

“Simply say ‘Hogwarts, Great Hall,” the Headmistress instructed, “The House Elves will bring up all of your baggage.”

She watched as the students approached the fireplace one by one until only the five Slytherins remained.

Draco led the way across the room and dipped his head to acknowledge the witch who waited for them. Only after all five had disappeared did she step in herself.

The Great Hall looked the same as Hermione remembered, with the addition of a table perpendicular to the regular house tables. The fifteen students stood together rather than split up into their houses.

The Headmistress ushered the group toward the new table which had been built specifically for the returning students. It was directly in front of the staff table and raised just enough that the rest of the school would be able to see them at mealtimes.

“Welcome back to Hogwarts,” Headmistress McGonagall said to the group, “I am sure you are all wondering why I required you to attend in mid-July rather than September first. I will explain, but first have a seat at the table specifically for Eighth-Year students.”

Draco led the way and was not surprised that the other four students from his house sat down with him and avoided eye-contact with the rest of the cohort.

Hermione sat down next to Draco and squeezed his hand under the table.

“While we will always mourn the loved ones, we lost during the war, we are strongly reminded of those from the cohort which we have lost. Lavender Brown, Terry Boot, Anthony Goldstein, Sue Li and Parvati Patil died as heroes and we miss them every minute of every day. It would be easy to blame Mr Crabbe for his fate but if you cannot mourn his passing, mourn the lack of choices he had in his own life. It takes tremendous strength to turn on your own parents and most of us would never be able to make that decision.”

Draco held onto Hermione’s hand tightly during the speech.

“The House Elves are delighted that students have returned early, so we should not keep them waiting. Enjoy the feast.”

Hermione could easily see that there were numerous members of staff absent. She hoped Bill would be appointed as the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and wondered who would take over as Head of Gryffindor House.

Across the table from Draco the three Hufflepuff students sat carefully avoiding looking at the Slytherins. He could feel the painful memories of the war dividing them and wondered how on earth anyone could bridge such a gap.

Hermione was watching the other Eighth Year students with concern. There were so many missing and the faces she could see were clearly haunted.

Six Gryffindors had returned; Ron, Harry, Seamus, Neville and Dean and herself.

Five Slytherins were seated together; Draco, Blaise, Theo, Pansy and Daphne.

Hermione was surprised that only three Hufflepuffs represented their House; Ernie, Hannah and Susan looked somewhat lost without the rest of their dorm mates.

The saddest sight was Padma Patil who represented Ravenclaw on her own.

The conversations were subdued as the main meal was finished. Hermione tried not to notice how many sets of eyes studied her proximity to Draco before new whispers started.

The selection of desserts which appeared on the table were a welcome distraction. She watched Draco indulge his sweet tooth with a smile.

Beside her Harry was engaged in a debate about Quidditch with Ron. She still could not see the appeal of the game and wondered if he was as passionate about any Muggle sports.

Hermione looked up curiously when Susan Bones and Hannah Abbott stood up and waited for the rest of the table to fall silent.

“Sorry to interrupt the yummy food,” Susan said with a smile, “But Hannah and I have decided that since so many students did not show up, we need to implement some cross-house bonding activities.”

There were a few groans from around the table.

Hannah continued, “You boys can sort yourselves out. To all the ladies here, considering we are outnumbered I would like to invite you all to a slumber party tonight in the Room of Requirement.”

“You will need to be changed into your sleepwear and bring your own pillow. Stuffed toys are optional,” Susan continued.

“What if I sleep naked?” Pansy asked. Daphne giggled.

“Then I can loan you something to sleep in,” Hannah replied, the smile not wavering for a moment.

“Can boys come along too? Especially if any of the ladies sleep in the buff?” Theo asked hopefully.

“No,” Susan replied flatly.

“You don’t sleep in the nude, Pans,” Draco announced.

“Like you’d know!” Pansy huffed.

“I know Pans, because I don’t think you sleep at all.”

Pansy saluted him with her middle finger, yet Hermione could tell that there was no animosity between them.

“Barring nudity issues, are there any other questions?” Hannah asked.

“I’m in,” Padma announced, “I’ll bring all the Ravenclaws with me.”

“I’ll come,” Hermione agreed, “The overabundance of testosterone in Gryffindor is going to be annoying this year.”

Daphne and Pansy had a very quiet conversation before Daphne announced, “We’ll be there too. What’s the Room of Requirement?”

“You can field that one Draco,” Hermione encouraged.

The sudden silence which followed her words alarmed her. As the two Hufflepuff girls sat down Hermione realized her mistake. She had always referred to him as Malfoy before the Battle.

Draco launched into an explanation of what the Room of Requirement could do and where it was. Hermione was grateful for the distraction.

Professor McGonagall moved from the staff table to sit with the students while they finished the dessert. Hermione was curious to hear the next announcement as soon as she had moved.

“I don’t expect you to move into the dorms with the other students,” the Headmistress said to the group, “Once the numbers were confirmed the Castle presented a place for you to stay. I hope that the bonds between all of you will transcend House rivalries and set a positive example to the younger students.”


	73. Slumber Party

Professor McGonagall led the group to the portrait of a wizard with thick glasses and a bald head. He sat on a chair with impeccable posture.

“’Second Chances’,” she said.

The wizard inclined his head in acknowledgement and the portrait swung open. Hermione pondered a few nostalgic memories of the Gryffindor tower before studying the new space. The ceiling had been enchanted to show the sky beyond; the dusk was giving way to the brightest of stars.

“Your trunks have been moved into your rooms,” McGonagall explained, “And your names are on the doors. Mr Malfoy, due to your medical condition you have been allocated the single-bed room in the corner. The rest are larger and are to be shared by two people.”

Hermione watched Draco investigate the room behind them and to the right while the rest of the students went searching for their names on the doors.

“Why does Malfoy get his own room?” Seamus asked, “Does he attack people in his sleep or something?”

“That is none of your business, Mr Finnigan.”

Ernie McMillan was also unhappy with the arrangement, but kept his voice at a lower volume, “It’s probably so that no-one will kill _him_ in his sleep.”  
Hermione was pleased to find her nameplate on the door of the room next to the one Draco had disappeared into. She was relieved to learn that she would be sharing the room with Padma.

Hannah and Susan had the next room and Pansy and Daphne completed the row. The back of the room was dominated by four more doors for the remaining eight males. Harry and Ron were in the far-left corner. Hermione wondered if they had purposefully been placed as far from the Slytherins as possible.

The kitchen was small and there were doors leading to a pair of bathrooms. Pansy was already celebrating not having to worry about sharing a sink with a bunch of guys.

“I shall leave you to get settled in,” McGonagall said with a smile, “Remember; fighting will not be tolerated no matter how annoying you find each other.”

The door clicked shut behind her. Hermione waited to see who would regress to childish antics first.

“What’s the medical condition?” Seamus asked Malfoy with characteristic tact.

“I would prefer that to remain private for at least a week,” Draco responded in a cold tone.

“And I’d prefer you to be in Azkaban,” Seamus shot back, “We don’t always get what we want.”

“Leave it, Seamus,” Harry said with a sigh.

“Alright then,” Seamus agreed far too easily, “How about an apology to my mate Dean for locking him in your dungeon last year?”

Hermione and Padma exchanged a glance of mutual exasperation. Pansy and Daphne were still huddled near the door to their room in case they needed to make a quick escape.

“Seamus –“ Dean began.

“No; he’s right, Thomas,” Draco interrupted, “I am sorry you were caught by Snatchers and thrown in the dungeons. I’m sorry I ‘forgot’ to send you to the Ministry to be tried for stealing a wand. I’m also sorry I made sure you had a bed and decent food.”

“You arrogant bastard!” Finnigan growled, “Don’t you feel any regret for all the shit you did?”

“That’s enough!” Weasley snapped. He stepped in front of the angry Gryffindor, so they were almost nose-to-nose.

“Get out of my face, Weasley!”

Dean pulled Seamus away before punches were thrown.

“Seamus! I understand the sentiment, but it wasn’t him. It was his bloody Father, psycho Aunt and Voldemort.”

“Don’t defend him, Dean!” Seamus spat.

“I can bloody well defend who I want! He was ordered to torture Luna, but do you know what he did? He pointed his wand and told her to scream as loud as she could. He didn’t cast the spell at all!”

Hermione was proud to see Dean stand up for Draco. Sadly, Malfoy had already locked himself in his room.

“Is the pissing contest over?” Pansy asked, sounding rather bored, “I have a slumber party to go to.”

“Get stuffed, Parkinson,” Seamus spat.

“Not if you were the last guy on earth Finnigan,” she replied before heading into her room.

“I’ve moved up a rank!” Theo realized with a snort.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hannah and Susan were the first to emerge wearing flannelette pyjamas and clutching pillows.

“Where are the silky nighties?” Neville asked, “I know you own some, Hannah.”

“Where’s that gentleman who brought me flowers during the holidays?” Hannah wondered, “If you find him, let me know.”

Seamus, Dean, Ron and Harry were making stupid noises and congratulating Neville on his attempts at wooing.

Susan raised her hand to knock on a door, only to have Daphne open it. The women smiled nervously at each other.

“I made sure Pansy is wearing something,” Daphne offered with a giggle. Her long blonde hair was tied back in a plait which reached her waist.

Ron was blushing before he even stood up to approach Daphne. Harry knew what was going on, but the rest of the males watched in astonishment as Ron kissed Daphne on the cheek and complimented her slippers.

“What is this, an orgy?” Pansy exclaimed as she emerged in blue pyjamas and matching slippers.

“Blaise!” Daphne called, “Pansy wants a kiss!”

The sound of the door being hastily locked from the inside send laughter rippling around the room.

Hermione and Padma emerged cautiously, already having heard about an orgy and a kiss.

“Let’s get out of here ladies!” Susan encouraged, “Boys, if you mess the place up while we’re gone you have to do all the cleaning for a month without House Elves.”

“Not fair!” Ron cried.

Daphne blew him a kiss as she left.

“So, Ron,” Dean began, “You and Daphne? When the hell did that happen?”

Draco had changed into his own sleepwear but knew he would not be able to rest until Hermione had returned. While the Gryffindors and Ernie McMillan grilled Weasley about his love life Draco slipped out of his room and headed toward the door with ‘Theo Nott’ and ‘Blaise Zabini’ emblazoned across the front. Unfortunately, he wasn’t quick enough.

“Malfoy!” McMillian called, “I hear you spent the last month with the Weasley’s. What’s that about?”

The door he had nearly reached was swiftly unlocked. Theo and Blaise stepped out.

“I’m curious too,” Theo admitted. Blaise waited silently with his arms crossed.

“Death Eaters showed up at his place,” Potter explained. Malfoy dropped his head forward to stare at his feet.

“He attacked them but was overpowered,” Weasley continued.

“So?” Seamus prompted.

Potter sighed, “Malfoy, show them your back.”

Grey eyes turned to glare at the Boy-Who-Would-Not-Shut-Up, “No.”

“Come on,” Weasley whined, “We can tolerate you because we know the story. You might as well get used to sharing it.”

Theo and Blaise were clearly worried, and they had trained for years to hide their emotions. Draco felt the irritation well up in his chest and wanted to shock the pushy Gryffindors and their Hufflepuff supporter.

“If I do this, you lot leave me alone for the rest of the week,” Draco bargained. His eyes roamed over the group and came to rest on Potter. He was the natural leader, as sad as that was.

“I think that’s fair,” Potter looked around pointedly. The rest of the young men nodded their agreement.

“I told the Death Eaters where to shove their pureblood bullshit,” Draco said without emotion. He pulled his shirt over his head. Behind him, Blaise and Theo gasped in shock.

Draco turned around so the rest of them could see the words ‘BLOOD TRAITOR’ written in deep scar tissue on his back.

“The Ministry has tried and set punishment,” Draco spat at the Gryffindors, “I don’t need any more shit from you lot.”

Theo and Blaise allowed him to pass with his shirt still in his hand. They observed the pale faces watching them until the door clicked shut.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Daphne and Pansy trailed behind the four women who led them toward the seventh floor. Daphne had spent some time with Hermione, of course, but Pansy was clearly nervous at the expansion of her social circle.

Daphne was worried because she knew what Pansy was like when she was anxious.

“Here we are,” Susan said happily. She held the group back as Hannah began walking backwards and forwards in front of the blank wall.

“It reads your mind and becomes whatever you need,” Hermione explained to the two Slytherins.

“Firewhiskey!” Pansy suggested loudly.

Padma giggled, “Sounds like a good idea; we’ll have to ask the House Elves, though.”

The wooden door which appeared was rather plain. Hannah led the group in confidently. Pansy hovered just inside the door, clearly out of her comfort zone.

Susan approached the Slytherin witch, “I never got the chance to say thank-you,” she said to Pansy.

Pansy shrugged, “No problem.”

“What’s this about?” Daphne asked curiously.

“Nothing,” Pansy snapped. She threw herself down on one of the beds which were arranged in a circle. The hexagon made by the edges of the mattresses was filled by a table which soon supported a variety of alcoholic drinks.

“Crabbe and Goyle cornered me one-night last year,” Susan explained in a shaky voice, “They were tying me up and pulling off their clothes when Pansy showed up.”

Hermione sat down on the mattress opposite the one Pansy had chosen. She had heard sparse details on what Hogwarts had been like under the control of Death Eaters.

“She told them to take their tiny pricks and go fuck each other in the Great Hall if they were so hard up to get laid,” Susan giggled.

Padma covered her mouth, “Dear Merlin.”

“Stupid bastards,” Pansy declared, “They wouldn’t even look at another woman after that.”

“What did you do to them?” Daphne asked knowingly.

Pansy smirked, “I might have slipped a lust potion into their drinks, so they were wildly infatuated with each other.”

“I’ll always be grateful you found me that night,” Susan added, “If there’s anything I can ever do for you -”

“I have an idea,” Pansy interrupted, “Can someone please explain when the hell Longbottom developed a nice arse? Nothing scared me as much as realizing I was checking him out ten minutes ago.”

Hannah giggled, “He definitely grew up last year.”

Daphne wiggled her eyebrows at the Hufflepuff, “Did you make a man out of him in that sense too?”

Hannah was blushing, “No. We’re dating, but not sleeping together yet.”

“You’ll get there,” Pansy encouraged, “We’ll teach you every trick we know to charm his out of his boxers.”

Padma was giggling into her pillow, “Are Slytherin’s always so blunt?”

“No,” Daphne replied, “We are brought up to be secretive and calculating. Sadly, Pansy never got that memo.”

“I got into Slytherin, just like my bloody mother wanted,” Pansy explained, “And I was fourteen when she tried to betroth me to an old fart. That’s when I decided that being a good pureblood girl was a load of bullshit.”

Hermione knew exactly how Pansy had avoided that marriage.

“He wanted a virgin, so I went out and made sure I wasn’t one,” Pansy added, “Mother has never forgiven me for it. Or Draco.”

Daphne reached out to shove her friend in the arm. Pansy glared back at her.

“What?” Pansy demanded rudely.

“Maybe Draco would appreciate his sexual history being kept quiet?” Daphne hissed.

Pansy was clearly confused, “He didn’t care last year when I caught you -”

“Pans!”

“Are you dating Draco, Hermione?” Padma asked gently, “I noticed you don’t call him by his surname anymore.”

Hermione blushed and couldn’t find a single thing to say. Eventually she nodded, knowing she could not refuse the direct inquiry.

Pansy started laughing. She received multiple glares from the rest of the group.

“Priceless!” Pansy gasped, “He denied that he said your name when he came; I knew he was lying!”

Daphne buried her face in her pillow. Padma, Hannah and Susan were reaching for their glasses of alcohol and not meeting Hermione’s eyes.

“You can be such a bitch!” Daphne spat at Pansy.

“I know,” Pansy said as she wiped tears of mirth from her eyes, “And I’m damn good at it.”


	74. Inter-House bonding

“Are we going to be witnessing bitchy, jealous arguments for the next month?” Padma wondered aloud.

Pansy made a rude noise, “I have no interest in Draco. He’s my best friend but his moody man-pms is too much for me to handle. After a brief fling in Fifth Year, I have no interest in him.”

“Except that time when you kicked him in the nuts,” Daphne added.

“That was not sexual unless he is seriously kinky. You’d know more about that though wouldn’t you Daph?” Pansy teased.

“I’ll get the crown for you soon so you can be ‘Queen Bitch of Hogwarts’,” Daphne replied while rolling her eyes, “Hermione and I have already discussed my ill-fated relationship with Mr Malfoy. I even visited the Weasley household in June.”

“You sly cow!” Pansy gasped, “Keeping secrets from me?”

“I never knew Slytherins were so entertaining,” Susan mused.

“The boys are worse,” Daphne offered, “Always bitching about something and then having an emotional breakdown when they get letters from home.”

Pansy nodded, “Frankly I’m surprised Daddy Malfoy didn’t hex off Draco’s man bits when he found out about this new love-affair.”

Hermione blushed at the mention of Draco’s bits, “Lucius escaped from Ministry custody just after Draco and Narcissa came to the Burrow.”

Hermione knew she was dancing around truths which were not hers to reveal.

“What’s the medical condition?” Hannah wondered.

Pansy snorted, “Knowing Draco; herpes.”

The explosion of laughter drowned out the shocked denial from Hermione. Daphne hit Pansy with a pillow even while she was giggling.

“I said the same thing!” Daphne shrieked.

“He’s only been with four girls,” Hermione said firmly when the mirth finally died down.

“And you believe that number?” Padma asked.

Hermione nodded, “Let’s just say that the medical condition ensures he cannot lie to me like that.”

“I didn’t know Herpes was so powerful,” Pansy mused.

“You _are_ a bitch,” Hermione realized.

“And proud of it,” Pansy agreed, “What’s your point?”

Hermione was frowning, “I guess I had always hoped it was an act.”

“Pansy is a bitch to anyone who could threaten her friends and family,” Daphne explained, “She is incredibly loyal, like most Slytherins. We have to stick together as the other Houses usually hate us.”

“I am right here,” Pansy complained, “And capable of speaking for myself.”

“That’s the problem,” Padma laughed.

“Drink your booze, Ravenclaw,” Pansy instructed, “I want to hear about all the boys you have seduced before this night is over.”

“It’s a short list,” Padma retorted, “I went out with Terry Boot for most of Sixth Year. By the end he wasn’t complete rubbish in bed.”

“Boot?” Pansy repeated, “Merlin rest his soul. I always thought he was gay.”

Susan laughed, “Why?”

“Ignore Pansy,” Daphne advised, “She spent far too long around males who think commenting on the size of her boobs is a good way to start a conversation.”

“And they wondered why they could never get laid,” Pansy added dismissively.

“So, let’s hear your sordid sexual history Miss Parkinson,” Hannah encouraged, “We have all night, so you’ll need to talk fast.”

“Now who’s the bitch?” Pansy chided, “Let’s see; Draco in Fifth Year. Granger: I really hope he has picked up some skills in the meantime.”

“He has,” Daphne offered.

“Then I had a thing with Blaise last year,” Pansy continued, “He’s talented in bed but I need a man who isn’t intimidated by what comes out of my mouth.”

“Keep looking,” Padma laughed.

“You’d think after a War, the men would be tougher,” Pansy mused.

“I think this is going really well,” Susan said with a smile, “I wish we had become friends’ years ago.”

“Have I called you a bitch, yet?” Pansy wondered.

Hermione snorted at her, “We’ve figured out that being called a bitch by you is a term of endearment.”

“Smart-arse bitch,” Pansy replied without malice. She noted the volume of Firewhiskey left in the bottle and decided to skip the glass stage.

The image of Pureblood, well-bred Pansy Parkinson drinking from the bottle left the rest of the women in stitches. Daphne giggled before reaching for another bottle; she had spent so much time with Pansy over the years that nothing surprised her anymore.

“Your turn, Susan,” Daphne encouraged, “Who have you managed to corrupt?”

Susan rolled her eyes, “No-one unfortunately. I went out with Seamus in Sixth Year, but he was too immature. Last year I was on the run so there was no romance on the cards.”

“Merlin’s balls!” Pansy laughed, “We need to get these Hufflepuff girls laid.”

“What about you Hermione?” Padma asked, “We’ve heard rumours about you, Ron and Harry for years. Full history please.”

“Rumours?” Hermione repeated, “What a load of shit. Harry is like a brother and all Ron and I did was kiss. Nothing there at all.”

“She said ‘shit’,” Pansy said to Daphne in a loud whisper, “Let’s teach her some better swear words.”

“Don’t change the subject,” Daphne hissed, “I want to know if Draco is suffering from blue balls yet.”

“That doesn’t really happen, Daph,” Pansy replied.

“Well you should know; you teased the whole damn house and only ever put out for two guys,” Daphne agreed.

“I have standards,” Pansy stated as she tried to sound like a snob.

“We’re not at that stage yet,” Hermione answered before the question could be repeated, “We’ve only been going out for just over a month.”

Daphne made a dismissive noise, “He’s been obsessed with you for years and trying to hide it as hatred.”

“I know,” Hermione revealed, “He took the Dark Mark for me.”

The stunned silence which settled over the group made Hermione regret being so honest.

“Seriously?” Padma squeaked, “Did he tell you that?”

Hermione shook her head, “I saw the memory in a Pensieve. Voldemort found out about his interest in me. Draco offered to take the mark in exchange for me.”

“Like a sex-slave or something?” Pansy wondered.

“No, as his wife.”

Hannah whistled, “That’s huge. Why would Voldemort accept that?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Usually secrets are a part of being a Slytherin,” Pansy mused, “But I’m dead-set curious now.”

“Harass Draco about it then,” Hermione said flatly, “I’m not telling.”

“Oh, I will,” Pansy replied thoughtfully.

“Alright, we’ve finished dragging information out of Hermione for a while,” Padma decided, “I want to know about that kiss from Ron earlier.”

All eyes turned to Daphne. The blonde smiled at Padma before her eyes dropped to her drink.

“I’ve had a crush on Ron since Fifth Year,” Daphne confessed, “Draco knew, so once he was on amicable terms he offered to introduce us.”

Pansy shoved her face into her pillow and shrieked. The sound soon turned into loud, very unladylike laughter.

“Are you alright Pansy?” Hannah wondered, “You keep making weird noises tonight.”

“She! Him! Oh, Merlin!” Pansy gasped.

“You’re not making sense,” Daphne informed her.

Pansy giggled into her hand, “Is that why you would turn Draco’s hair ginger when you spent the night with him?” she choked out.

Daphne nodded as the blush crept up from her neck.

Susan and Hannah dissolved into giggles while Padma gaped silently.

“Draco and I were friends with benefits; we were both pining after someone else,” Daphne explained, “We were upfront about our motives, even if he wouldn’t say who he was in love with.”

“Did you ever wake up to find your hair brown and as large as a hedge?” Pansy asked.

“Still a bitch,” Padma commented.

“No,” Daphne replied, “I would have figured out who he was after.”

“Didn’t you tell Ron you’re still a virgin?” Hermione asked quietly.

Daphne nodded, “I am; technically. My mouth isn’t, though.”

Hannah choked on her drink and started coughing. Susan was fanning her face with her hand. Hermione covered her mouth with one hand and tried not to look prudish.

“Come on, Granger,” Pansy chided, “It seems weird at first but if you trust your partner it will all fall into place.”

“And Draco has had lots of practise,” Daphne added, “The things that man can do with his tongue –”

Hermione made a strange noise which reminded Padma of a bird in distress.

“What about you and Ron?” Padma asked Daphne, eager to take the focus off Hermione, “Have you tried out your talents on him, yet?”

Daphne smiled wistfully, “Sadly Father insisted on accompanying me to the Burrow; as if Molly and Arthur would let us go unchaperoned for more than a few minutes. We managed a quick snog before being interrupted. We didn’t get more than ten seconds alone at the Manor without Astoria barging in.”

“He’s a sweetie,” Hermione offered, “He always has good intentions, even when he sticks his foot in his mouth.”

“Flexible,” Pansy mused. Daphne rolled her eyes at her friend.

“He prattles on about Quidditch too much, I must admit,” Hermione added.

“We’ve had some good discussions about Quidditch during out letters,” Daphne recalled fondly, “He has written me poetry, too.”

Susan giggled, which drew a few questioning glances.

“Sorry,” Susan offered, “I was just trying to imagine Ron writing poetry and I wondered if he got you to proof-read everything, Hermione. I know he relied on you a lot for that.”

Hermione smiled into her Firewhiskey, “Funnily enough, he didn’t. I hope the lyrics weren’t too strange.”

Daphne grinned at the group, “I think my favourite line was _‘You are my favourite witch; I love you more than Quidditch’_.”

“He’s throwing around the ‘L’ word already?” Hermione realized with astonishment, “You two barely know each other!”

“He did explain that he felt it was too early to make any declarations, but the poem didn’t sound right any other way,” Daphne laughed, “I think he is much more emotionally aware that you give him credit for.”

“You’ve known him too long,” Pansy mused to Hermione, “It’s like me with Draco; I know he is a man now but when he annoys me I can only see the pointy-faced little eleven-year old who assumed he was better than everyone else.”

“I thought of him like that right up until he turned up at the Burrow covered in blood,” Hermione admitted.

Daphne shared a glance with Pansy; they both needed to head the full story but didn’t know how much could be revealed to the other three women.

“It’s rather romantic,” Padma mused, “In a disturbing way. Romeo and Juliet style.”

“They both died,” Hannah pointed out.

“Romeo and who?” Pansy wondered.

“Muggle characters; star-crossed lovers, etcetera,” Hermione offered.

“’Draco and Hermione’ doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Daphne said with a smile.

“Not like Ron and Daphne,” Pansy teased, “Shit, is that why you got so pissed at Draco about the ‘Weasley is our King’ song?”

Daphne giggled, “Yep, and I got revenge too.”

“Oh no; what did you do?” Pansy groaned.

“I may have made up my own lyrics and cursed Draco’s pillow to sing them before he went to sleep each night,” Daphne laughed.

“I don’t think I want to know the lyrics,” Susan decided.

Daphne wiggled her eyebrows at the Hufflepuff, “’Weasley is MY King; Tie me up, blindfold me and he can do anything’,” she recited, “That was one of the tamer lines.”

Pansy pushed her glass of Firewhiskey away, “Now I feel ill.”

“I’ve heard you say worse to Blaise in front of a full common room,” Daphne said dismissively.

“Was Draco badly injured?” Hannah asked Hermione.

Daphne and Pansy waited in silence; getting information directly out of Draco had never been easy.

“Nothing life-threatening,” Hermione relented, “Just extensive soft-tissue damage. His back scarred pretty badly.”

Hermione lifted up the sleeve of her night-shirt to display her own ‘Mudblood’ scar. Pansy gasped at the sight of it.

“Draco’s scar is bigger,” Hermione said thoughtfully, “I don’t even notice mine anymore.”

“It could be worse,” Daphne mused, “Internal scars are so much harder to deal with; I pity whoever Theo ends up marrying.”

“Theo?” Susan clarified, “He always seemed pretty normal, just reserved.”

Daphne nodded, “He puts on a good act. If anyone tried to get to know him he runs a mile. There are serious trust issues there.”

“Maybe he’s gay?” Padma wondered, “Most of the Wizarding world wouldn’t care, but with him being the only heir to a large estate and very old name it could be a problem.”

“I wish it were that simple,” Daphne replied seriously, “Thadius Nott has screwed Theo up so badly I doubt he will ever fully trust anyone.”


	75. Cursed

Draco sat in the common area sipping a cup of tea. It was still far too early for any sane student to be awake and he knew the five hours of sleep he had managed was the limit.

He wanted to crawl into bed beside Hermione and stay there until everyone else had left the dorm. Unfortunately, she was still in the Room of Requirement at the Slumber Party.

Draco had spent hours the previous evening stressing about the conversations the women were going to have. Between Pansy and Daphne, they knew enough embarrassing stories about him to humiliate him for life.

Theo had been as sombre as ever; unless asked a direct question he barely spoke. Blaise was his usual self; able to look arrogant while carefully filtering every word he spoke.

After the awkward confrontation with the Gryffindors and their Hufflepuff ring-in, Theo had pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey and started pouring the liquid into glasses without any prompting.

“We may all end up as alcoholics this year,” Draco muttered.

“I don’t care,” Blaise replied flatly, “After seeing that mess on your back, we all need a stiff drink.”

“The top part said ‘Blood’,” Theo recalled. He didn’t need to directly ask what the next word was; Draco could hear the question in his tone.

“Blood Traitor,” Draco supplied, “Tell a couple of Death Eater to get over themselves, and they get all knife-happy.”

“Good on you for standing up to them,” Blaise said seriously, “I know you spent years wanting to scream at the lot of them.”

“That part felt good,” Draco admitted, “The curses and the cutting; not so much.”

The conversation flowed easily for most of the evening. Even though all three of them wanted to avoid the topic, the Battle of Hogwarts was the last time they had been together, and it needed to be discussed.

“I wish I had stayed to fight,” Theo admitted, “If I had known you weren’t dressed up like an idiot, I would have enjoyed killing a few of them.”

“Same here,” Blaise agreed, “Though I would have felt awful if I’d killed someone who had been good to me as a kid.”

“It did feel good protecting the younger kids though,” Theo recalled.

“If by ‘good’ you mean bloody terrifying,” Blaise scoffed.

“You were the one bellowing at approaching Death Eaters,” Theo replied.

“You were very intimidating,” Draco offered.

“Drink your Firewhiskey and shut up,” Blaise ordered.

Draco had done exactly that and had the headache to show for it. His usual stash of Sober-Up potion had not been restocked; something he would have to consider post haste.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The tapping of an owl at the window was only noticed by Ron and Daphne. The latter was determined to get into a good study routine and get her boyfriend involved too. The redhead had grumbled about studying before breakfast but had been tamed by a glance from the blonde.

Hermione watched their interactions with a smile. Draco leaned in toward her and whispered, ‘pussy whipped’, which earned him a smack on the shoulder.

Ron put down the Charms textbook with a sigh and opened the window to receive the letter. The owl pecked his hand and flew past him in a flutter of feathers which made him swear.

“What would your mother say if she heard you using language like that?” Daphne asked with a smile.

Ron shrugged, “She wouldn’t say anything; she’s just shoot a spell at me or hex my hair off.”

“I knew I liked her,” Daphne mused. Ron narrowed his eyes at her with worry.

Pansy thanked the owl which was bobbing in front of her. The envelope was distended; clearly there was more than a letter in there.

Hermione offered the owl some treats while Pansy tore open the missive.

“I swear,” the Slytherin witch muttered, “If she’s trying to set me up with another brain-dead moron I’m going to puke.”

Draco looked up from the Potions textbook, “Your mother wouldn’t know a decent wizard if he bit her in the backside. That’s why she disliked me.”

The witty retort Pansy wanted to fling at him died in her lips as a bracelet fell out of the envelope and attached itself to her wrist.

“That BITCH!” Pansy cried, desperately trying to rip the offending piece of jewellery from her skin. It burned horribly every time she moved it in the slightest.

Draco was by her side in seconds. Hermione watched the tears streak down the face of the Slytherin girl while Draco examined the bracelet.

“She cursed me!” Pansy wailed, the crumpled letter falling out of her hand, “How could she?”

“May I?” Hermione asked. She pointed at the letter.

Pansy nodded and cried into Draco’s chest. He patted her back awkwardly.

“The bracelet will turn blue while the wearer is in contact with a suitable mate,” Hermione read, “And can only be removed when the Marriage Ceremony has been performed.”

Daphne pried Pansy off Draco and hugged her tightly, “It’s okay, Pans,” she soothed, “We’ll be there for you, no matter how long it takes.”

“Read the rest!” Pansy cried, “That evil, manipulative bitch is out to ruin me!”

Hermione cleared her throat, “If the marriage ceremony is not performed by the birthday of the wearer, it will smother all magic and render the wearer a Squib permanently. Apparently, your mother had booked a ceremony for the fifth of November.”

“The day before my birthday,” Pansy sniffed, “I have less than four months to convince some poor pure-blood bastard to marry me AND take my name.”

A worried silence fell over the Eighth-Year common room. Pure-bloods were rare, and finding one willing to give up his giving name was next to impossible.

“Well it’s not blue now,” Draco said with false cheer, “I guess we’re not meant to be.”

“Shut-up Draco,” Pansy sighed without any malice in her tone.

Pansy was not a quitter. She had survived the war, avoided the Dark Mark and the Dark Bastard for the most part. The determination not to let her mother take her magic welled up inside her.

Draco watched his friend pull away from him, wipe away the tears and glare around the room. He smothered a smile when she walked straight up to Blaise and touched his shoulder.

“Hands off the merchandise,” Blaise said tiredly.

“Not blue,” Pansy mused. Nott was her next target.

Theo jumped over the lounge and backed away from Pansy, “You’re like a sister Pans! No, just no!”

“Get back here Theo!” Pansy chased him around the common room while most of those present laughed.

Draco took pity on his cursed friend. He launched forward and grabbed Theo by the arm.

“No!” Theo wailed, “I don’t want that crazy bitch as a mother-in-law!”

Draco didn’t realize that most of the eyes in the room were on him and the laughter had died. Pansy touched Theo on the back and watched the bracelet.

“Nothing,” she sighed.

Draco let Theo go and watched him hug Pansy with a grin before returning to his seat.

“How did you move so fast, Malfoy?” Neville asked suspiciously.

Draco wished that Longbottom would regress to being the dopey boy he had been in his earlier years; the man watching him through narrowed eyes would be a lot harder to lie to.

“The medical condition McGonagall mentioned when we moved in,” Draco said flatly, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Ernie McMillian left his seat near the other Hufflepuffs and held out his hand to Pansy. She extended her shaking hand toward him.

“Nothing,” Pansy sighed, “Maybe the stupid bracelet is broken.”

“I’m afraid keeping the surname is probably eliminating most of the candidates,” Ernie mused, “Most purebloods are only children, or the only male.”

“Ron’s pureblood,” Hermione said to Pansy, “You should eliminate him from the list too.”

Ron stared at Pansy like she had threatened to kill him. He was shaking his head as though he could deny his blood status.

“Let’s get this over with,” Pansy sighed. She walked straight up to him and held out her hand to the redhead.

Daphne watched the exchange with wide eyes. Ron extended his shaking hand toward the Slytherin witch. As soon as their skin touched the bracelet glowed bright blue.

“Shit,” Ron muttered. At the same time, Pansy dropped the f-bomb.

Daphne jumped to her feet, “Not happening Pansy!” she declared, “You know I’ve liked Ron for years!”

“This isn’t my fault!” Pansy cried, “Blame my bloody mother!”

Ron stared at the two witches and revelled in the fact that they were fighting over him. His ego swelled and he grinned at them. A few seconds later his brain kicked in.

“Um, Pansy?” he said to get her attention.

Pansy turned away from the best friend who was extremely angry at her.

“Yeah?”

“I have three brothers who are still unmarried,” Ron said as he reached for Daphne’s hand, “The family is coming to Hogwarts for Harry’s birthday in a couple of weeks; I’ll explain to mum what’s happening and she’ll make sure Charlie, Percy and George are here.”

Pansy looked like she was on the verge of tears, “Thank-you.”

Daphne beamed at Ron and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. He blushed and reached out to take her hand in his.

From the kitchen-area, Draco started laughing. Pansy glared at her long-time friend.

“What are you laughing about Draco?”

Even Ron could tell there was a distinct threat in her tone.

“Weasley’s brothers!” Draco wheezed, “I know which one will be perfect for you!”

“Explain quickly before I turn you into a unic,” Pansy growled.

Hermione was smirking at him as he struggled to control his laughter.

“Charlie trains dragons for a living,” Draco managed, “He is the only one who might be able to handle you at the wrong time of the month!”

Pansy was screaming insults and chasing Draco seconds later.

Ron nodded at Daphne, “He’s probably right, you know.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Professor McGonagall studied the bracelet carefully while Pansy waited hopefully. Daphne sat off to the side watching their interactions.

“I’ll contact the Aurors,” she said finally, “I don’t want to risk hurting you with an attempt to manipulate it. Your mother will most likely face charges.”

Pansy nodded, “She deserves it. I know she’s my mother but she can’t get away with this.”

“I fear for her sanity if she thinks she can do this without consequences,” McGonagall mused.

“She’s always been a pushy cow,” Pansy said without any malice, “But since Father was sent to Azkaban she’s been acting really weird. I heard her arguing with one of the portraits in the hall last week for about an hour.”

“You suspect her mental capacity is diminishing?”

“She’s as crazy as a Hippogriff in the mating season, if that’s what you’re asking,” Pansy agreed.

“Eloquent as always Miss Parkinson,” McGonagall commented, “I will send for the Aurors immediately.”

Pansy mumbled a thank-you which made Daphne hide a smile. She could count on one hand all the times she had heard Pansy thank anyone in a sincere voice.

“I never thought my life would end like this,” Pansy said miserably as they headed back toward the portrait.

“It won’t kill you,” Daphne pointed out.

“Just suck my magic out and leave me a Squib,” Pansy replied darkly, “Which is worse.”

“You’ve got a few months; maybe you’ll find the perfect guy and live happily ever after,” Daphne offered.

Pansy had lost most of her optimism while Voldemort had reigned, “My best chance is a Weasley. After years of looking down my nose at them I must beg one of them to marry me. Is this karma? I know I’m a bitch but I’m not evil. I couldn’t use the Torture curse on the kids; thank Merlin Draco taught me to fake it.”

Daphne let her ramble on without interruption. She knew when her best friend needed to vent her frustrations and it was always better to just let it happen.

“Red hair and freckles?” Pansy continued, “The portraits will have a field day. What goes with ginger anyway?”

“Green?” Daphne suggested.

“We’d look like a bloody Christmas tree,” Pansy moaned, “Surrounded by ginger-headed children with no sense of style at all.”

The entrance to the Eighth-Year dorm came into view.

“I’m resigned to my fate,” Pansy decided, “I’ll marry a Weasley, get him to take my name and birth as many of his children as possible. And whenever I see Mother I’ll dress like Mrs Weasley, wear ugly shoes and ask if she is happy with her decision to curse me.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Daphne agreed.

“Dear Merlin, how am I going to convince one of Weasley’s brothers to marry me?” Pansy moaned.

“Well, using their first names would be a good start.”


	76. The Daily Prophet 3

Two Aurors arrived while breakfast was being served. Draco watched Pansy sigh and excuse herself so they could examine the bracelet.

The Great Hall seemed so much larger without hundreds of students to fill up the space. Draco was looking forward to the return of the rest of the school in six weeks, mainly to have a distraction from the memories the place evoked.

_The dead had been laid out across the hall and mourners had sobbed openly over their loved ones. Draco had leaned into his mother and wished to escape the guilt which would not lift from his shoulders._

_Lucius had been subdued, and clearly relieved that the Dark Lord had fallen. Narcissa had commented what a waste it was to see Andromeda’s daughter had been killed._

_“Half-blood blight on the Black name,” Lucius had grumbled._

_Draco shifted further away from his father and regarded the man with disgust._

_“Speak something so revolting again, and I will cut your tongue out,” Narcissa said in a deceptively calm tone._

_Only then did Lucius regard his wife in surprise; the terrified, respectful wife he had lived with for years had been replaced by a scary woman who was glaring a hole through his face._

Draco returned to reality as more of his peers entered the hall for breakfast. Hogwarts would never be the safe sanctuary it had been before the war; the last two years had tainted the comforting memories far too much.

He was glad he was not required to return to the Slytherin dormitory; the misery he had wallowed in there was far too thick to allow him any rest.

Hermione sat beside him eating some perfectly cooked eggs and thinking about how different Pansy was compared to expectations. The Slumber Party had been strange, yet surprisingly successful.

Daphne, Padma and Susan were sitting together and conversing as though they had been friends their whole lives. Hermione watched Theo and Blaise sit next to each other silently and wished she knew of a way to help the males bond, too.

After years of experience with Harry and Ron, she knew how stubborn and illogical males could be; becoming an Animagus would take less effort.

The owls flew in with the morning mail. Draco finished his meal and reached for the copy of the Daily Prophet the owl had delivered to Hermione. She claimed the paper was full of rubbish, but she wanted to know what they were saying to gauge how full of themselves they were.

The front page sent a shudder of horror through his body, ‘ **Draco Malfoy confirmed as a Male Veela!** ’

The string of curse words which he spat out stopped the bustle of activity in an instant. Hermione’s hand shot out to grip his thigh as she spotted the headline.

“Mr Malfoy!” Professor McGonagall admonished, “Curb that language right now!”

“Do you have a copy of the Prophet, Professor?” Draco asked tightly.

Minerva reached for the paper and opened it curiously. Her only comment was, “Shit.”

Multiple wide eyes turned to stare at the angry Slytherin. Hermione didn’t stop him as he lurched to his feet and fled the Great Hall.

“A Veela?” Theo gasped. His eyes flicked up to stare at Hermione. She nodded to answer the unasked question.

“That’s the ‘medical condition’?” Seamus realised, “He needs his own room to get laid? How do I request a room for the same reason?”

“Shut-up Seamus,” Ernie supplied before Hemione could offer the same advice, “Male Veela are so rare they are unheard of. Are you his mate, Hermione?”

“I am,” Hermione confirmed tightly, “And since we both value our privacy, I am asking you to not bring it up again.”

With as much dignity as she could muster with so many sets of eyes scrutinising her every move, she left her seat and left to follow Draco.

“No mating mark on her neck,” Daphne observed.

“Yet,” Susan added cheekily.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco had barely escaped the Great Hall when Winky the house elf popped into existence in front of him. He managed to stop before tripping over her, though it was a close call.

“The Headmaster needs to speak to you,” Winky announced. She held out her hand; clearly expecting him to take it.

“Don’t you mean ‘Headmistress’?”

The elf stared at him, still holding her hand out. With a sigh, Draco placed his hand in hers. They disappeared with a POP.

Draco blinked up at the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore. Shame washed through his gut as soon as he recognised the man in the portrait.

“Hello, Draco,” Albus said calmly, “It’s lovely to see you again.”

The guilt over nearly killing the former Headmaster was smothered by fury.

“Bullshit! You manipulative, old bastard!” Draco yelled, “You _knew_ what would happen to me when I went home at the end of Fifth Year! You fucking knew that psycho would brand his horrid mark on me! You knew and you never tried to prevent it!”

Winky backed away from the yelling wizard; the young ones took years to stop having temper tantrums.

“You could have offered me sanctuary the day I came back!” Draco roared, “Instead you let my mother rot in that house with those perverts! You left me to my fate; knowing that I didn’t have the strength to kill you but if I didn’t she would be thrown to the worst of them for a giant fucking gang-rape!”

Dumbledore regarded the young man sadly, “In war, sacrifices have to be -”

Draco lunged forward with his claws fully extended. Dumbledore jumped out of the frame a moment before the cloth was torn from the portrait.

“You miserable, fucking coward!” Draco screamed.

“I could not have said it better myself,” Severus said from behind the Headmaster’s desk.

Draco spun around to face his godfather. He bared his teeth and growled.

“Very impressive, Draco,” Severus said, sounding rather bored, “Now that I consider it; the Veela gene does explain your complete lack of subtlety. Sometimes I would sit in my office moaning that you had the tact of Hagrid on a drinking binge.”

Draco recognised the hint of affection on the voice of the man he considered to be his father in everything but blood. The claws retracted slowly as he regained his composure.

“Sit down and have some tea!” Winky ordered from the other side of the desk. Only the tips of her ears were visible.

“Do as she says,” Severus advised, “We have a meeting with Minerva; as soon as the Aurors bugger off. I always knew Posy Parkinson was one Thestral short of a herd.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Minerva had been quite busy since the revelation that Severus had returned through the Veil. She had stormed into her office to screech at the retreating Dumbledore before breaking out the Firewhiskey. Somewhere after the fourth drink she had gotten the bright idea to contact Severus via a Patronus.

Severus had been startled by the arrival of the small cat which spoke with a familiar drunken brogue.

“Severus, you bloody git!” the cat admonished, “Why dinna you tell me you were back? Get your arse to ‘Ogwarts!”

Spinner’s End was no more welcoming than it had been as a child; he was happy for Draco to take it off his hands. He had made enquiries about the Prince family manor, which was standing empty after the remains of the family had fled during the First Wizarding War.

Hogwarts welcomed him as it always had since he had become Headmaster; the wards washed over him soothingly and nearby ghosts sailed into view to greet him.

Facing Minerva had been a chore. Severus had been gobsmacked when the witch threw herself forward and sobbed into his shoulder like a terrified First-Year. It took him a full minute to be able to decipher what she was trying to say.

The evening had been distinctly uncomfortable, yet quite necessary. He had always been socially isolated since his friendship with Lily had crumbled. Experiencing his respected colleague apologizing and professing her maternal feelings toward him had been bizarre at best.

Severus was aware of his aversion to emotional displays; he had spent most of his life perfecting ways to keep people at a distance. Occasionally, he regretted this deficit; usually when he didn’t know how to comfort Draco as a child.

By the time she had sobered up the next morning, Severus expected Minerva to want to forget the entire incident. Instead, she had apologized for not being truthful sooner. When she had declared that he was the son she had never had, he had blinked away moisture in his eyes.

Severus Snape did _not_ cry if he could help it.

The rest of the discussion had been about the bizarre behaviour of the castle since the night of the Solstice.

“The castle has stopped recognising Minerva as the Headmistress,” Severus explained to Draco, “Apparently, my return to life has confused it.”

Draco sat down in the chair across from his godfather. The large desk between them seemed so much smaller than it had in the past.

“Are you going to take up the position?”

Severus curled his upper lip in distaste, “Not if I can help it.”

“I was offered a Potions Apprenticeship,” Draco continued, “Do you really think Sluggy will want to train me? You know he only accepted the idea when he found out I was staying at the Burrow; he wants another chance to get his hooks into Potter.”

Severus felt the metaphorical chains clamp around him; an echo of the chains which held prisoners in place during trials. Dumbledore had saved him years ago, only to tie him to Hogwarts with guilt and obligation. He had sustained himself on the promise of freedom once Voldemort died; whether through his own death or exoneration.

“I doubt the Board of Governors would allow me to remain here in any capacity,” Severus intoned while silently hoping he was right.

“If they do, would you return?”

Severus could see past the young adult trying to retain his composure to the insecure boy within. He had always been susceptible to adolescents who tried to hide behind an image; he identified with them.

“I would consider it; but only for the duration of your Apprenticeship,” the Potions Master conceded.

While Draco thanked him, Severus was already considering his options. Minerva had carried too much responsibility for far too long; the roles of Head of Gryffindor and Deputy Headmistress had been combined into one to save money before he had received his letter. Severus had pointed out how the situation led to Gryffindors running amok and getting into trouble; and they certainly didn’t need help in that regard.

“There is something else to discuss,” Severus admitted to the blonde in front of him.

The grey eyes which met his apprehensively had changed so little over the years. The cheeky child who had thrown a tantrum when he was not allowed to bring his stuffed dragon to the dinner table had those eyes; the haunted, terrified boy who he had failed the year Dumbledore had died had also looked at him through those orbs.

“Mother?” Draco said worriedly, “Is she alright?”

“Narcissa is safe, though confused at the moment,” Severus explained solemnly, “Minerva should be here soon; then we can explain.”

Minerva left Filius to supervise the Aurors; she wanted to rely on their professionalism to treat Pansy with respect, but simply couldn’t. They were the same men who had arrested Lord Parkinson.

When she arrived, Draco was already impatient. Severus was as stoic as ever.

“Thank-you for waiting,” Minerva said immediately, “Draco; there had been a development in the hunt for Lucius.”

Severus noted the witch nod at him to complete the story, “Early this morning, Lucius was dumped on the doorstep of the Tonks residence; his memory had been severely damaged.”

Draco became completely still as his mind struggled to comprehend the news. He could not move beyond the knowledge that someone knew where his mother was; she was not safe.

“He remembers the basics of the magical world, and some spells. He has no idea who he is or what he has done.”


	77. New Professors

Hermione felt the desperation through the bond with Draco. She finished making her bed and faced the shared space she had been trying to avoid.

The sudden silence which greeted her made her roll her eyes.

“Seriously,” she said to the multiple sets of eyes which were suddenly watching her guiltily, “If you’re going to talk about me, you have to be able to switch the conversation naturally; otherwise the situation will just get awkward.”

“She’s right,” Pansy agreed, clearly not feeling any guilt at all, “We were discussing all the times Draco did something weird, and how we should have figured out he had the hots for you years ago.”

“He had the motivation to keep up the act,” Harry pointed out.

“And teenagers are usually too caught up in their own lives to notice much,” Hermione added dismissively. She didn’t bother replying to the protests behind her as she disappeared out the door.

As she followed the churning mess of emotions her Veela was producing, Hermione was making plans. Draco needed to retreat from the rest of their classmates to regain his composure, and perhaps contact a lawyer to sue whoever had leaked his status. She had never heard of such legal action in the magical world, but she would bet her copy of Hogwarts: A History, that he was already planning some sort of revenge.

The feeling shifted without warning; relief and affection replaced the volatile mix which had prompted her to seek him out.

“Where are you?” Hermione called out.

The chuckle which rumbled out of the closest alcove gave his position away.

“I didn’t realize you could track me too,” Draco said from the darkness.

Hermione held out her hand, “Come on; it can’t be comfortable in there. I know a better place.”

Something in her voice incited the Veela instincts he was constantly suppressing. He took her hand and smiled down at her suggestively.

“Don’t try to avoid talking by charming me,” Hermione warned, “I want to know what had you so upset.”

Draco distracted her with a kiss, and the purr she adored. By the time the door to the Room of Requirement appeared in front of them, she had forgotten what had driven her out of her room to find him.

The mattress which appeared out of thin air caught her body perfectly. Cradling his body between her thighs felt right, even though their robes were in the way.

Draco was in heaven, right up until the sharp stab of pain in his backside brought him back to reality.

“YYOOWWLL!” the cry of a pissed-off feline shattered the mood for Hermione. Draco jumped away from her and spun around to face their attacker.

“Crookshanks?” Hermione gasped.

The psychotic tiger abandoned the attack and trotted over to Hermione while emitting friendly noises. Draco regarded it with barely-concealed horror, reinforced by a stinging backside.

“ _That_ is your familiar?”

Hermione paused with her hand on the neck of her cat, “Yes, _he_ is.”

The warning in her tone was very clear, “Does he attack everyone you kiss?” Draco asked pointedly.

Hermione switched to a childish cooing, “Poor Crooks; you thought I was in danger. Draco is not a threat; I promise.”

The ginger monster peered up at the blonde through eyes which were too large for his flat face.

“Potter said you were ugly,” Draco said to the cat.

Crookshanks fluffed up and hissed. Oddly, Hermione did something similar.

Draco dredged up all of his Slytherin cunning and charm, “He was probably just jealous that you’re better groomed. Do I get an apology for the claw-marks in my butt?”

Hermione relaxed immediately and made a cheeky offer to kiss it better. The cat continued to regard him warily.

“Cats don’t apologize,” Hermione said with a smile, “If he accepts you, he will curl up in your lap for a cuddle.”

Draco imagined the orange monster sitting in his lap and licking itself. He repressed a shudder.

“Well, at least we know you have another protector willing to attack to prevent you being harmed,” Draco sighed. He wondered if the lust-filled mood could be rekindled somehow.

“Crooks has pretty good timing,” Hermione said firmly, “You distracted me.”

Draco sat down next to her and gave up hope of snogging instead of reliving what had occurred with Severus. He breathed in the scent of her hair until she plastered her hand over his face.

“Stop trying to avoid the conversation!”

Draco sighed in resignation; she was growing more stubborn as time passed.

“Severus is in the Headmaster’s office; apparently the castle thinks he should be in charge. He also told me that Lucius was dumped outside Andromeda’s house with most of his memory wiped.”

Hermione leaned into him immediately, ignoring the purring furball on her lap. She received a forceful tap on the chest from one ginger paw.

“Don’t damage those breasts,” Draco grumbled at the cat, “You’ve got your own to play with.”

“They know where Narcissa and Dromeda are,” Hermione realized, “They have to be moved quickly.”

Draco nodded, “Severus assured me that has already been taken care of. Can we snog now?”

Hermione kissed his cheek, “We start our apprenticeships today; you don’t want to be late on the first day.”

“Sluggy won’t care,” Draco grumbled, “He might not even show up.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Not only did Professor Slughorn show up on time, he plastered on a smile when Draco arrived in the Potions classroom.

The morning headline had intrigued the older wizard; it was not often something so important avoided his notice. Knowledge was power, after all.

Lucius had been destined for power; his easy manipulation of the people around him had been obvious from a young age. Only his involvement with the Death Eaters had limited his potential.

Horace had dismissed Draco as a poor shadow of his father and not worth the effort to befriend. His involvement with the Death Eaters had only confirmed the assumptions the Professor had made.

The involvement with Miss Granger had changed the game completely.

Draco considered the friendly demeanour of the man rather amusing, until he reminded himself that he needed this Apprenticeship. Severus would do his best, but Draco could not assume the association with Slughorn was temporary.

Cleaning out the storeroom was boring, yet necessary. The stock needed to be rotated and a handful of ingredients needed to be thrown out. By the time the area was up to par, it was time for lunch.

Hermione enjoyed her time with Professor McGonagall. The emotional echo from Draco remained calm and she had a set of new books to read.

“There will be some new faces joining us for lunch,” Minerva said mysteriously as they left the Transfiguration classroom. She refused to divulge a word to the ever-curious brunette.

The laughter from the Great Hall was clearly audible in the corridor. Hermione realized that she recognised the sound. Moments later she burst through the doors with a broad grin.

Andromeda Tonks sat at the Eighth-Year table, right next to Narcissa. Hannah and Susan were nearby, the latter holding Teddy.

After the joyous hugs, Susan and Hannah were left gaping at the image of Narcissa Malfoy fussing over Hermione like a parent.

By the time lunch appeared on the tables, there were multiple eyes observing the interactions between Narcissa and Hermione. Draco’s entrance was barely noticed until he sat down next to the brunette.

“We need to buy the Prophet,” Draco said to his mother as soon as greetings had been exchanged, “Then burn it down, or make all of them use Truth-Quills; I haven’t decided which option would work better.”

“We have a thirty-percent share already,” Narcissa revealed with a smile, “And I may be in the process of acquiring another thirty-five percent this month.”

Professor McGonagall had abandoned her seat at the Staff Table in favour of one with the Eighth-years. She gave in to the curiosity humming around the table once everyone had arrived, and most had started eating.

“I would like to announce the return of Professor Snape to Hogwarts; he will be teaching Sixth and Seventh year Potions while Professor Slughorn takes the lower years,” she announced, “Bill Weasley will be taking on the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts, with guidance from Professor Snape.”

Seamus, Dean and Ernie were clearly wary of the news about Severus. Draco watched them pale significantly and appreciated their silence.

“Andromeda Tonks has agreed to teach Muggle Studies; the course needs to be rewritten so I will be approaching muggle-borns for their opinions before the rest of the students arrive.”

Hermione suppressed a squeal of excitement; she had been dying to change the curriculum of that silly course for years.

“And Narcissa Malfoy will be teaching History of Magic. Professor Binns will act as a tutor to anyone who wants to work at Gringotts in the future.”

The clapping from the table was hesitant in places; some of the students only knew Narcissa Malfoy as the mother and wife of Death Eaters.

“Teddy will be living here, of course,” McGonagall continued, “But there is one more guest who will be living in the castle; Lucius Malfoy is currently in the Hospital Wing.”

The outraged protest which exploded from the teenage boys was expected. Draco slipped an arm around Hermione and concentrated on her warmth.

“Most of his memories are gone; he is no more dangerous than the rest of us,” McGonagall continued sternly, “Nevertheless, he will be closely monitored at all times. The Aurors are investigating his return and have promised to keep us updated.”

Draco kept his eyes on his food. The knowledge that Lucius was in the castle turned his stomach. He wanted to hide in the Room of Requirement with Hermione until everyone forgot the name Malfoy.

Narcissa waited until the conversation turned to mundane matters to quietly tell her son that she would be visiting with Lucius after lunch. The tone of her voice clearly denoted that he was being given an order to accompany her.

Draco ate enough to avoid a lecture from either witch sitting next to him. He noticed that the Gryffindor males and their Hufflepuff recruit were all looking dismal.

Draco suspected their little minds were struggling to cope with the presence of the Black sisters; they kept glancing at Andromeda fearfully. He wanted to make her laugh so the resemblance to Bellatrix made them wet themselves.

Hermione kept her hand under the table to squeeze his thigh reassuringly. Draco hoped it would creep higher so he could forget everything screwing up his life for a while. He was still resentful that he had been cock-blocked by a cat.

The doors flew open again, revealing Professor Snape in all his black-clad glory. The scar on his neck was visible above his collar, and only added to his menacing appearance.

Seamus turned red and made some strange noises which could have been mistaken for the mating call of a Hippogriff.

Professor McGonagall conjured an extra chair so Severus could sit next to her.

Seamus shot to his feet, “I refuse to sit at a table with that man!” he spat.

“Reign in your temper, Mr Finnigan,” Minerva said firmly.

“Do you know how many of us he personally tortured?” Seamus demanded, “Then he laughed, like he was having the best time of his life! I don’t care what the bloody Prophet says, he belongs in Azkaban!”

The silence which fell over the table was suffocating.

“Examine your memories again, Mr Finnigan,” Severus instructed coldly, “You will find blurred edges and far too many shadows. My memory charms are good, but they began to fail when I died. I tortured three students during my tenure as Headmaster because Alecto or Amycus were present, and none of them were you.”

Seamus sat down slowly, clearly doubting himself.

“One of them was me,” Neville said quietly, “You chose to _crucio_ me to prevent Alecto from killing me.”

Severus acknowledged the young man with the slightest tilt of his head.

“The House of Longbottom bears no grudge against Severus Snape,” Neville intoned formally, “And will support any move to resurrect the House of Prince.”

Ron was the first to resume eating.


	78. Lucius

“He was released from St Mungo’s an hour ago,” Narcissa explained as she led Draco and Hermione to the infirmary, “I was informed, but haven’t seen him yet.”

“If he is a drooling idiot, I may be able to tolerate him,” Draco muttered.

“We tolerated you when you were a drooling idiot who could only fill his nappy,” Narcissa snapped, “You can be polite long enough to ascertain how bad this memory loss is.”

“Fine,” Draco grumbled, “But if he insults Hermione even once, I am leaving and never coming back.”

“Agreed.”

Hermione found their interactions to be rather interesting. The hint of maternal affection was there, yet Narcissa treated Draco as an ally more than anything else.

Lucius was concealed behind a privacy screen. Narcissa walked forward with apparently confidence while Draco and Hermione hung back.

“Your family is here,” Madam Pomfrey said to her patient.

Hermione could hear shifting in the bed as Narcissa tentatively peered around the screen.

“Lucius, this is Narcissa Malfoy.”

Lucius stumbled through a surprised greeting before commenting, “I didn’t realize I had a daughter too.”

Narcissa laughed, which was a nice sound, “I’m not your daughter; I’m your wife.”

“Everyone keeps hinting at what a stuck-up bastard I am,” Lucius said worriedly, “How did I convince you to marry me?”

Within a minute, Hermione was trying not to break into uncontrollable giggles, and Draco was nauseous.

“They’re _flirting_ ,” Draco hissed, “It’s gross.”

Hermione shushed him, which drew Narcissa’s attention away from the charming man on the bed.

“Draco, come introduce yourself to your father,” Narcissa instructed regally, “Bring your lovely girlfriend too.”

Lucius Malfoy looked so different with his hair cut short and his eyes unguarded. Hermione could feel Draco’s anxiety rising with her curiosity.

“Lucius, this is our son Draco and his girlfriend Hermione,” Narcissa introduced with a smile, “They are both Apprenticing at the castle this year, while they finish their NEWTS.”

“NEWTS,” Lucius muttered, “The seventh-year exams?” He was visibly relieved when Narcissa confirmed his recollection.

Draco managed to shake the outstretched hand even as his mind reeled at the contact; he couldn’t remember the last time he had shaken hands with the man or touched him in any affectionate way. Even when he wanted to reprimand Draco, that damned cane had been used to prod him into line.

“I’ve missed so much,” Lucius said aloud, “Was I a good father?” There was a sheen to his eyes which disturbed Draco.

“Not really,” Draco answered honestly, “You were the perfect pureblood Lord; stern, forbidding and cold.”

“Even in private, I was still a bastard?” Lucius realized, “Was I that repressed, or just full of myself?”

Hermione laughed while Narcissa decided it was a combination of both.

“I prefer you this way,” Draco decided, “Before, you would have threatened to disown me for dating Hermione.”

Lucius blinked rapidly, “Why?”

“My parents are Muggles,” Hermione explained.

“Muggles,” Lucius repeated, “Non-Magicals?”

“Yes.”

“I’m still confused,” Lucius sighed, “What’s wrong with Muggles?”

Hermione beamed at him, “Nothing; but some purebloods look down their nose at muggle-borns, call us names and discriminate against us.”

“But, how many purebloods are there?” Lucius asked worriedly.

“A couple of hundred,” Narcissa replied, “And we are all distantly related by now.”

Lucius was crumpling the blanket in his hands as he considered the idea, “So they hate muggleborns for _not_ marrying their cousins?”

Hermione giggled, “Basically.”

Lucius glanced at each of them imploringly, “Is that supposed to make sense?”

Narcissa shrugged, “Teach children the same rubbish from birth and they will believe it. It took a war to change many opinions.”

Lucius was looking at Draco again, his gaze on his left arm.

“You have one too,” Lucius said softly as he considered his own faded tattoo, “A nurse said it was a brand from a lunatic with delusions of grandeur.”

Narcissa nodded tightly, the change in atmosphere jarring.

“Did I make you get that?” Lucius asked softly.

The remorse in the gaze of the man who was always so emotionally unavailable broke something in Draco. He felt his throat close over with suppressed sobs.

Hermione was not surprised when he fled the room. She nodded to the couple before following him.

“I don’t want my memories back,” Lucius said softly, “Clearly, they are not worth having.”

Narcissa reached out to take her husband’s hand, “You were guided by principles forced upon you by your father, and his father before him. You always treated me with respect and courtesy and did everything you could to keep me safe from the Dark Lord and his followers. Lucius, you were a good husband.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco found Crookshanks walking in front of the Room of Requirement. He watched the feline turn around and head back in the opposite direction.

He was not surprised by the door which appeared in the wall.

“Smart-arse,” he muttered to the smug animal, “How are you going to deal with the door handle?”

Crookshanks mewed loudly. A House Elf arrived without a sound.

“Hello, Kitty,” the elf greeted happily. Within seconds the door was open and the half-kneazle was swaggering through the doorway.

Hermione found Draco standing in the Room of Requirement swearing at her cat. The animal gazed at him calmly.

Even Hermione had to admit, the animal looked very pleased with himself.

“This is where your crazy cat has been since you were last a student here, I’d bet my wand on it. Did that Defence Group of yours have to leave someone in here all the time, or was it always here?”

Hermione shrugged; she hadn’t sat down to question Neville, Luna or Ginny about that year in depth.

“He even called a House Elf!” Draco complained, “Are you sure he’s really just an animal?”

“Are you an animagus, Crooks?” Hermione cooed at the cat.

Crookshanks tilted his head and kept his ears tilted forward.

“Great; he’s playing dumb. I’m watching you, Mr Crookshanks!”

Hermione hid a smile as her familiar ignored the threat in favour of cleaning himself.

“He seems to be rather occupied,” Hermione commented, “Would you like to talk about the new, improved Lucius?”

The answer was no. Draco wanted to wrap himself around his mate and ignore the world until it made sense again.

Hermione stretched out on the bed the room provided, and let Draco use her chest as a pillow. She expected to feel smothered by the way he pressed his body against hers and used his arm and leg to hold her close, yet it was only comforting.

Crookshanks jumped up onto the bed and regarded the couple through his large eyes. Hermione removed her hand from Draco’s head to scratch her cat behind the ear.

Draco muttered something rude about Crookshanks needing to find his own pussy.

Crookshanks used his furry paws to knead the robes above Hermione’s stomach before curling up in a loose ball between her hips.

Draco was muttering something uncomplimentary when a single paw was stretched out to rest on his shoulder.

Hermione smiled at the display; Crookshanks has accepted Draco as a part of his family. She waited for the blonde to say something obnoxious to the cat and was not disappointed.

“Another bloody ginger trying to adopt me.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Aurors arrived during dinner. Narcissa froze immediately, scared that they were coming to take Lucius away. He was so charming and innocent that she wanted to get to know him all over again.

Professors Sprout, Flitwick and Vector offered to deal with the visitors so Minerva could enjoy her meal. She brushed off their offered graciously.

Minerva rose from her seat to greet the Aurors. After a brief conversation, she asked Pansy to join them.

“I hope they’ve arrested her crazy mother,” Daphne said to Theo.

“Doesn’t look like it,” Blaise mused, “Pansy would be grinning if that had happened.”

Pansy was glaring at the Aurors with hatred. Moments later, their curiosity was sated.

“She ESCAPED?” Pansy screeched, “How could she just WALK OUT if she was under HOUSE ARREST? Were you all sniffing potions or something? INCOMPETENT FOOLS!”

Pansy stormed back to the table while Minerva was torn between rebuking the witch or agreeing with her.

“Severus was right,” Draco mused, “He had some interesting things to say about Aurors too.”

“Speaking of Severus; he should be returning to the castle this evening,” Narcissa revealed.

“Is he going to be sharing quarters with Aunt Andromeda?” Draco asked innocently.

Narcissa simply lifted her hand to flick his ear with her beautifully manicured nails.

“Enough of that smart mouth, or I will tell your godfather about that comment. Would you enjoy dissecting small rodents for the next month?”

Draco mumbled something while shaking his head. The smirk on his face belied his remorseful posture.

Minerva returned to the table and invited the visiting Aurors to join them for dinner. Pansy glared at the from her seat next to Daphne. As they sat down, another adult wandered toward the table.

“Good evening, Sybil,” Professor Sprout said warmly. The chorus of greetings which followed was quite reserved.

“Hello, everyone,” the Divination Professor replied absently, “I had the strangest urge to be social tonight.”

“We’re glad to see you down here,” Professor Flitwick said with a smile, “Nothing is more enjoyable than spending time with friends and family.”

“My cousin used to say that,” Professor Trelawney mused, “Until his brother ran off with his wife.”

Dessert was being served when Sybil slumped back into her chair. A deep, ominous voice silenced all conversations;

“ _The House of Black never died._

_Sworn to evil; the youngest son lied._

_Hidden at Hogwarts he has remained._

_His human form, yet to be retained._

_Gamma Orionis will rise once more,_

_Seeking vengeance like never before._

_The two will meet at the foot of a grave,_

_The winner will have a future to pave.”_

Harry was the first to recover, “Not another bloody Prophecy!”

A large, brown owl swooped into the castle and landed in front of the two Aurors. Draco watched them carefully; if Lucius was going to be arrested, he would be there for Narcissa.

“Mr Malfoy, this notification is about you,” one of the wizards said carefully, “Your status as a Veela is not in question. The status of your mate has yet to be confirmed, so the Ministry is taking steps to charge you with the assault and attempted murder of Augustus Rookwood.”

“You must be joking!” Hermione yelled, jumping to her feet, “Rookwood was trying to rape me, and is now the victim because Draco stopped him?!”

“As you have not been claimed as the mate of a Veela, Mr Malfoy’s actions are not covered by the laws pertaining to Veela,” the second Auror explained.

“When you are claimed, the charges can be dismissed,” the first added.

“When will the charges be laid?” Draco asked coldly.

“Tomorrow.”

“So, I will be in Azkaban by tomorrow afternoon?” Draco asked rhetorically.

“Not bloody likely!” Hermione cried, “Come on!”

Draco found his arm grabbed by a determined witch. They were nearly at the door before he realized what she had planned.

“Hermione, I don’t want to push you into anything,” he hissed.

“If shagging me will keep you out of Azkaban, we’re going to shag right now!”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Thadius Nott was a patient man. After decades of scheming, his ambitions were finally going to be realized.

The spectral form of the Dark Lord stood nearby. The features of Tom Riddle were clearly visible; the mutated, snake-like form of his second rising were thankfully absent.

“I should have listened to you long ago,” the Dark Lord admitted softly.

Thadius regarded his friend thoughtfully, “I appreciate how hard that must have been to say.”

“Somehow, my ego has deflated since my death,” came the reply.

“Well, the plan is well underway,” Thadius assured him, “The wand has been recovered, and the ingredients have been gathered.”

“It is a shame I cannot be reborn again,” the Dark Lord mused, “But I am glad I taught another how to make a Horcrux. Do you not want to make one yourself?”

“No thank-you, Tom,” Thadius replied calmly, “At least, not until we are in firm control of the Wizarding world. I need my mind completely focused to accomplish our goals.”

Posy Parkinson was escorted into the room by Walden Macnair. A handful of Death Eaters were scattered around the room.

“Let us begin the Resurrection,” Thadius bellowed.


	79. Pretend not to hear

The dead silence which hung over the Entrance Hall lasted a full four seconds after Hemione’s announcement and abrupt departure with Draco.

The silence was shattered by Harry coughing loudly as he struggled not to choke on his pumpkin juice.

“Easy, mate,” Ron offered, patting his friend on the back, “Just pretend you never heard that.”

Harry waved a hand in the direction their friend had disappeared, “Merlin!”

“No, I named him Draco,” Narcissa contradicted sweetly, “She’s not planning to seduce Merlin.”

Ron sat back from the table with a frown, “I wish I hadn’t eaten so much.”

“I wish I had never eaten in my life,” Harry agreed.

“Children are so dramatic these days,” Andromeda mused, “You knew they were going to mate eventually; why is it such an issue now?”

“She’s like a sister to me!” Harry complained, “And right now, she’s – uh!”

“Ginny is my sister,” Ron replied, “And I found you in her bed, with your hand -”

Daphne elbowed him in the side to stop that comment.

“We’re engaged, now,” Harry protested, “I’d have married her the day after the Battle if that’s what she wanted. She is determined to graduate and play for the Harpies before we talk about children, though.”

“You’re wandering off the topic,” Pansy said with a smirk, “Go back to choking on your dinner; it’s rather amusing.”

“Stop stirring the cauldron,” Daphne admonished.

“I wonder if they would prefer a spring wedding,” Narcissa mused aloud.

Daphne shook her head, “Not you too; if Hermione gets wind of wedding arrangements before she has sat her NEWTS, she will be very pissed off.”

“We’re just teasing the boys,” Narcissa assured her, “Hermione will accept a proposal from my son when she is good and ready. On the other hand; Mr Weasley, here, might need a firm hint.”

Ron glanced between Narcissa and Daphne with wide eyes, “I’ve missed something.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down,” Blaise laughed.

“Lord Greengrass may have sent me a letter,” Narcissa revealed lightly, “Considering you are the ultimate Gryffindor, Ronald, I suggested he simply ask you if you would be willing to take the name Greengrass if the two of you marry.”

“Is that all?” Ron asked, clearly relieved, “That could work. If I hyphenated, could the kids still have the name Greengrass?”

“Is that all?” Theo repeated incredulously, “Daphne, are you sure you want to marry someone this dense?”

“Get stuffed, Nott!” Ron spat.

“Settle down, boys,” Minerva snapped in a disapproving tone.

With a brief glance, Narcissa communicated her displeasure to the Nott heir. He wilted in his seat.

“Ronald; to offer to take the name Greengrass is a huge sacrifice on your part. Lord Greengrass is in the position of being the last Lord of his family and has accepted it. If he knew you would be willing to accept the title of Lord Greengrass, he would draw up a Betrothal Contract within the hour,” Narcissa explained.

Daphne was beaming at her boyfriend, who was still confused by the conversation.

“I still don’t see the huge deal,” Ron admitted, “Between Bill, Percy and George, there are going to be Weasley kids all over the place.”

“That’s certainly true,” Andromeda laughed, “Every Lord who looked down on the Weasley family was always dead jealous of Molly’s fertility.”

“I can remember Abraxas getting drunk and loudly regretting not pushing Lucius toward Molly Prewett,” Narcissa recalled, “I pointed out that the Prewett family would have told him exactly where to shove the Betrothal Contract.”

Blaise and Theo were regarding Ron thoughtfully. Only Blaise had the confidence to ask what they were both wondering.

“Weasley, do you have any single, female cousins?”

“Mafalda Pilon, in Slytherin,” Ron replied, “She’s just finished Fourth Year. Her dad is mum’s second-cousin.”

Blaise frowned, “I wouldn’t own up to that; she’s really annoying.”

“Any charming redhead ladies who want a big family?” Ernie asked casually.

“Uncle Bilius has a son, but no daughters,” Ron said thoughtfully, “Uncle Archibald is quite happy with his boyfriend, so no girls there either.”

“Astoria still has a crush on you, Blaise,” Daphne teased.

While the conversation continued around him, Theo was thinking of the reaction of his father if he married a non-pureblood. He fantasised about marrying a Muggle and watching the old bastard die of a heart attack.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Posy Parkinson cradled the stump that had been her hand. Skele-grow and some serious healing potions would help, but it would be at least a month before she had the use of her fingers again.

“We could not have accomplished this without you, my dear,” Thadius said quietly to the woman, “You will have your wish within days; do you know if your husband is already in Azkaban, or is he is awaiting trial in the Ministry?”

“The Ministry,” Posy managed, “The trial is set for the eighth of August.”

“Bellatrix would like to speak to you.”

Thadius was quite pleased with himself; Bellatrix had returned to life with her memories intact. Whereas the Dark Lord had lost his sanity when he had returned, Bellatrix had somehow regained hers. She was no longer the raving lunatic she had been since she made the Horcrux.

Thadius was content to remain the power behind the throne. The next stage of his plan was the most important; he needed a new heir.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione stomped to the Room of Requirement and finished summoning the door before her anger-inspired confidence began to crumble. They entered the room, which was dominated by a big bed. The door locked firmly behind them.

Sex. It represented a huge step. How dare they be backed into this corner?

Draco watched her yank her robes off and drop them on the floor. He shrugged off his own robes, folded them nearly and placed them on a chair, which popped into existence to support them. He really didn’t expect Hermione to follow through with what she had planned; her anxiety was far too sharp.

Hermione was trying to fight the mounting fear, knowing Draco would be able to feel it.

Draco patted the bed next to him, “Come talk to me.”

Hermione froze. The bed should have been just a piece of furniture, but it represented so much more. Was their first time going to be a fumbling, awkward memory of pain?

“Just talk,” Draco assured her.

Hermione made her way to sit next to him. She knew with absolute clarity that they would not be able to ‘just talk’.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

Draco propped his head up on one hand, “What for?”

“Being so nervous. Damn, if I was a tart this would be so much easier.”

His answering chuckle was a surprise, “If you a tart I doubt you would be my mate.”

“I hate being unsure,” Hermione grumbled. She sat with her back to the headboard with her hands in her lap. The tension in her body was plainly obvious.

Draco wasn’t sure what to say. The girls he had previously been with had all been eager to jump into his bed; some had been virgins beforehand, but most had been experienced.

“I don’t expect anything,” Draco said quietly.

“But they do. Bloody Ministry.”

Draco admired her spirit; he had let his become trampled under the weight of the memories of the war.

“You’re in charge here, Love. I’d rather go to Azkaban than force you to do anything.”

“Kiss me,” she whispered.

Draco slipped his hand behind her neck and gently brought her closer for a kiss. His lips were soft, and his hands were gentle. The tip of his tongue touched her bottom lip before retreating. The obnoxious displays of Ron and Lavender were laughable compared to the confident movements she experienced.

He trailed kisses along her cheek and down to her jaw. One hand tangled in his hair and the other gripped his shoulder. His skin was pleasantly smooth.

“Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Draco whispered.

Lovely tingles shot down her body from the places where his hands and lips touched her skin.

Hermione felt his hand sliding up her leg. His fingers played with the edge of the lacy knickers she wore under the skirt.

“Let me know if you’re uncomfortable,” Draco whispered into her neck.

Uncomfortable wasn’t the word. She was out of her element, exposed and excited by the way he was touching her.

Draco let his hand reach her hip before he halted the movement. She was far too tense to enjoy any of the attention he wanted to give her.

Hermione was disappointed when he pulled away. She was sure he was going to make short work of her bra.

“You need to relax,” Draco said softly, “Can I give you a back massage?”

She nodded, “That does sound nice.”

“Take the shirt off and roll onto your tummy.”

Hermione smiled at him. It was a small smile, but it was better than the fear he had seen earlier.

“You’re just trying to get me out of my clothes,” she teased.

“Nope; that is an added bonus,” he replied.

Hermione began with the top button. To distract himself from the lace bra which was being revealed Draco concentrated on undoing the bottom buttons, so their hands met in the middle of the shirt. She surprised him by sliding her skirt down her legs too. It joined his robes on the chair.

Hermione shifted around so she was lying on her stomach. Draco stripped off the rest of his clothes, so he was only wearing his boxers.

“In the middle of the bed,” Draco encouraged, “Put your arms down along your body to keep the muscles as relaxed as possible.”

Hermione waited for his hands to touch her back. Instead she was startled when he swung one knee over her hip and sat on her butt. The noise she made communicated her emotions better than any words could have.

“You enjoyed this last time,” Draco said with a smile, “And you still have a very cute bum.”

“Bloody arrogant Sly -”

Her words were cut off by a moan as his hands pressed into the muscles in her shoulders. The initial pain was swamped by relief as he manipulated the tension out of each section of her back.

Draco leaned forward to speak softly as his hands continued to work along either side of her spine.

“Have you ever researched how to give a blow job?” he asked casually.

Hermione felt the embarrassment at the question dissolve under his hands, “No.”

“What about having a guy go down on you?”

“No.”

Hermione knew she was blushing. She was glad that she was facing away from him, so she didn’t have to see him as she admitted that there were some topics she had avoided researching.

His hands reached the clip of her bra. Within seconds he had released the clasps and the garment loosened around her torso. Her arms remained pressed against her side, so her breasts were still concealed.

“Have you pleasured yourself since we last discussed it?” Draco asked quietly.

“No,” she squeaked.

“Why not? It’s a perfectly natural thing to do.”

“I know; I got the sex talk from my mum. Just, no. I’ve never even tried that, never felt the need to.”

Draco finished massaging her lower back and let his hands slide up to her shoulders. He leaned forward, brushed her hair out of the way and kissed the back of her neck.

Hermione felt his weight lift from her backside. He shifted sideways so he could see her face. She could feel something pressing into her hip and she was sure it wasn’t his wand.

“May I?” Draco asked without embarrassment.

“May you what?” She could feel one hand on her back and see the other propping up his head. Clearly it was not his wand pressed into her hip.

“May I pleasure you?”

Hermione stared at him in shock. How could he ask something like that without any hint of embarrassment?

“You want to,” she found the words would not form, “do that? Why?”

His hand moved up to stroke her hair, “I rather enjoy it,” he admitted, “I would be honoured to be the first one to bring you to an orgasm.”

Hermione wanted to bury her face in the pillow to hide her mortification. She took refuge in knowledge.

“Not all women can orgasm,” she said quietly.

“Those who can’t require a simple spell to enhance certain nerves,” Draco replied with a knowing smirk, “I know it so there is no need to worry.”

Hermione struggled to breathe. Her heart raced and she rolled onto her side in an attempt to draw in enough oxygen.

Draco admired her breasts for a moment before realizing that she was having a panic attack.


	80. Bonding

Draco held her hands firmly in his, “You’re safe, no-one can hurt you. If this is your way of demanding another back massage, I will gladly cooperate.”

Hermione managed to draw in a shuddering breath and blinked up at him.

“I’m sorry,” he continued.

Hermione squeezed his hands gratefully. His thumbs caressed her skin and he leaned forward to kiss her forehead.

“I hate feeling so exposed,” Hermione admitted shakily, “I’m used to knowing stuff; I’m clueless with this. We’ve messed around above the waist but I’ve never -”

Draco nodded thoughtfully, “Let’s get under the blankets; that should be more cosy and safe.”

Hermione kept her hands over her breasts protectively. Even though he had seen them multiple times before and seemed to enjoy nuzzling them more than most other activities the world had to offer, she was too self-conscious to enjoy the attention as she had before. Draco pulled the blankets up to her shoulders.

“Do you want to put the bra back on?” he asked, “I adore looking at your breasts but if it would make you feel better I can forgo the pleasure.”

“I’ll leave it off,” Hermione decided, “I should get used to being naked with you.” She used the blankets as a shield so she could twist sideways and grab her robes. She retrieved the small bottle of Calming Draught from the pocket and drank the contents in one gulp.

“Can I offer a hug?”

Hermione nodded and snuggled into his chest gratefully. His smell was distinctly masculine and appealing. Harry and Ron had never smelled as nice even before they were trapped in a tent for months.

Draco let his hands slide down her smooth back until his fingers brushed the lace again. He could feel her slight shudder and her smile indicated that it wasn’t a bad reaction.

“You don’t have to do this,” Draco sighed into her hair.

“I want to,” Hermione said to his chest, “But I don’t want to be awful at it.”

“Not possible.”

“So, do you, um, pleasure yourself often?” Hermione asked with a small smile.

“Daily,” he replied with a cheeky grin.

She giggled into his chest. She was amazed at how open he was about something so intimate.

“Is that a guy thing?”

“Yes. Didn’t you ever wonder why Potter and Weasley spent so much time in the bathroom in the mornings?” Draco sounded disgusted, “I hope they weren’t in the same bathroom.”

Hermione just shook her head into his collarbone.

“Is that why neither one asked you out?” Draco continued, “They were dating each other!”

“You’re ridiculous,” she offered softly.

“But I got your mind off embarrassing topics,” he replied

“Do you really think the idea of Harry and Ron dating each other is any less embarrassing?”

Draco slipped an index finger under the elastic of her lace knickers, “Anytime you want be to back off, just say ‘stop’, ok?”

“Do you get a safe word too?” she wondered.

“Nope, I am at your mercy. If you want to tie me up and have your way with me I will have no choice but to cooperate.”

Hermione slip her hands down to his hips. Her fingertips brushed along the waist of his satin boxer shorts. She could hold onto her courage while she was hiding under the blanket; the potion held her nerves at bay so she could focus on the lust.

“You think too much,” Draco continued, “I hoped talking would help you relax but it seemed to have the opposite effect.”

“Talking did help,” Hermione offered, “Otherwise I would have panicked when you unclipped my bra. I hate not _knowing_ what to do.”

Draco slipped one hand around her torso to brush the side of her breast. She let herself relax into his touch.

“You are far too confident with this,” she decided, “Exactly how many times did you practise your charms on your list of conquests?”

Draco lost the ability to process the question as soon as his hand cupped her breast completely. Hermione watched his expression relax as he lost focus.

“Hello?”

He didn’t reply. His hand seemed to take up all his brain power, which happened often when her breasts were uncovered. Hermione felt oddly powerful that she could transfix him so thoroughly. She took the opportunity to study him without being observed.

The trademark sneer had been replaced with a goofy smile. His eyes were unguarded and relaxed. The aristocratic cheekbones were still prominent above his strong jaw.

A freckle on his neck led her eyes downward to the shoulders which had always been disguised by robes until they were alone. His habit of wandering around in minimal clothing had been intimidating at first, though Hermione had come to appreciate it very quickly.

He had a few more freckles along his arms which broke up the pale monotony of his skin nicely. His long fingers were engrossed in the soft flesh of her breast.

Hermione gasped when he suddenly moved, shifting down so he could kiss the nipple of the breast he was obsessed with. The sensation was unexpected, and it took her a few seconds to relax into his touch. The bolts of excitement which shot down her abdomen allowed her to ignore the mounting anxiety.

She ran her hands through his hair and across his shoulders. She was thrilled by the realization that Draco Malfoy was attempting to seduce her, and she wanted him to succeed.

When his unoccupied hand withdrew from behind her back and trailed down her body she was more aroused than worried. When it slid into her knickers she arched into him instinctively.

Draco didn’t snap back to reality until Hermione pulled his hand off her breast. He blinked stupidly at her before he realized where his other hand was.

“Shit,” he muttered, “Sorry.”

Her hand pressed down on the one in her underwear, “Your finger is in a very interesting place,” she breathed, “I’ll tell you to stop if I become uncomfortable.”

He grinned at her chest and allowed her hand to guide his movements. She may not have experimented with masturbating, but she was clearly happy to learn.

Hermione allowed her mind to focus on the ripples of desire fluttering outwards from his fingers. He certainly knew what he was doing.

Draco was completely attuned to her movements. Her fingers gripped his hair tightly and her thighs were slowly parting. Never had a woman turned him on more. Each small gasp and barely audible moan she emitted made his cock twitch. If he wasn’t careful she was going to make him cum without even touching him below the waist.

Hermione felt him swap hands. The new angle allowed his thumb to touch that sensitive spot while his finger slipped lower. A sharp pain sliced through the pleasure-induced haze.

“When did you last cut your fingernails?” she whispered.

Draco pulled his fingers back slightly, “Sorry; they grow really fast.”

“Just be careful. You seem to know your way around,” she replied.

“I’m glad my experience will benefit you.”

Draco continued the movements with more care. He knew she was enjoying his attention almost as much as he was.

“Take them off,” Hermione whispered.

He paused in his efforts to slide the lacy knickers down her legs. She watched him closely as he leaned over to place her final piece of clothing on the pile.

“You have gorgeous legs,” Draco offered. He placed his hands on her ankles and slowly slid his palms upwards.

“The first time often hurts,” Hermione said quietly, “Some romance books blame the hymen but that can break from running or riding a bike.”

“If you’re not aroused enough your muscles will be too tight,” Draco explained, returning his hand to her vagina, “Fingering can help to check how ready you are.”

Hermione was blushing darker than ever. His face was level with her belly button.

“I won’t use my tongue unless you want me to,” he whispered into her skin.

“Maybe another day for that,” she replied tightly.

“We have plenty of time,” he was trailing a line of kisses along her stomach up to her chest.

Hermione didn’t want to wait. She wasn’t sure what she wanted but she wanted it immediately.

Draco felt her hands tugging him upwards. He allowed her to guide him up her body. Her legs parted and her feet hooked around to rest on the back of his calves. Her feet were tugging at his boxer shorts.

“I think I’m ready,” she whispered into his neck, “I want……….”

Draco slid the last of his clothing down to his ankles and kicked the satin garment onto the floor.

“Relax as much as possible,” Draco instructed gently, “Put your hands flat on my shoulders and if it hurts push a little and I will stop.”

Hermione nodded. She could feel his erection on her thigh; there was no way it was going to fit without a lot of pain.

“We’ll go really slow,” Draco assured her, “There is no time limit. We can stop anytime.”

Hermione felt his hand slip between their bodies. Within seconds she could feel the tip of his penis press against the area where his fingernail had scraped.

The sensation of being invaded was surreal. Draco tucked one hand behind her back so his fingers could brush against her neck. The other arm braced his weight above her body.

“Is this ok?” Hermione wondered.

Draco nodded, still clearly tense, “Concentrate on relaxing as much as possible. If you need to shift your hips, just do what feels natural.”

His hand fisted in the sheet. He had never wanted to please a woman as badly as the one below him. She had always represented purity to him, and forgiveness, compassion. He had never been worthy of her attention so he had sought it in the only way he could; by insulting her and her friends.

Hermione felt him push forward, only to pull back again. Each time he penetrated further and repeated the retreat. His eyes were closed and the muscles in his arms were straining from the effort of holding himself up.

She gasped a little at a sudden tenderness. He pulled back immediately and studied her face with worried eyes and pulled back more than necessary. She used her legs to trap him in place.

“More discomfort than real pain,” Hermione explained, “Keep going.”

Draco nodded down at her. His body was screaming at him to thrust into her hard and fast to work toward his own orgasm. The flush to her face and excitement in her eyes kept his movements slow and deliberate. She was lovely and the lust in her features only enhanced her beauty.

Hermione shifted her hips up toward him and watched his reaction with interest. He groaned as he sank further into her. The hand behind her neck moved abruptly to land on the bed above her shoulder. With both hands digging into the mattress, and the tips of claws beginning to emerge, he was in danger of ripping the sheets.

Draco dropped his head forward and panted for air, “You feel amazing,” he gasped.

Hermione pressed her cheek against his. She had never felt to close to anyone before and the thought worried her. She knew that some men didn’t attribute any emotional connection to sex so she couldn’t assume that Draco felt as she did.

She felt his hips press into her thighs, which halted his penetration. He lifted his head to meet her eyes.

“Does it hurt?” he asked quietly.

“Not really,” she replied, “A little uncomfortable but not painful.” She bit her lip as she analysed the feeling.

“I love how you do that,” Draco whispered. He kissed along her bottom lip until she released it from under her teeth.

Hermione returned the kiss eagerly. The stress of losing her virginity was giving way to a growing lust which was rapidly eroding any anxiety. She slipped her hands down his body and ran her nails lightly down his back.

“Feel free to use those nails if you need to,” Draco whispered. As he was sure she wasn’t suffering from his movements he loosened his grip on his self-control.

Hermione saw the excitement in his eyes a moment before he began slowly moving again. His head leaned back, and his eyes closed naturally as he revelled in the sensations.

Hermione could hear the moans of enjoyment and realized that they were coming from her own mouth. When she was lost in the pleasure created by their friction, Draco slipped one hand under her knee and pulled her leg up to adjust the angle. His pace increased abruptly, and she held on tightly. She had never imagined her body was capable of such pleasure.

Draco could feel the climax approaching faster than he wanted. He could feel her nails pressing into his back and welcomed the pain as an aid to prolong the experience.

Hermione could tell her body was approaching something wonderful. The tingling blossoming in her body hinted at something more which she couldn’t quite reach.

Draco buried his face in the crook of her neck and the rhythm of his frantic thrusting wavered. She heard him groan into her ear and his hips jerked against hers with enough force to make her nails draw blood. A layer of sweat broke out over his body and a sharp pain in her neck mad her instinctively claw at his back.

Draco emitted a low groan and his body relaxed on top of hers.

Hermione didn’t feel any different, and yet she knew that everything had changed.


	81. Marked

“We messed up the sheets,” Hermione whispered into Draco’s ear.

Draco smiled into her shoulder, “Magic can fix that,” he offered. He eased his body off her, so he was resting in his side while still holding her in his arms. A quick spell cleaned up the mess.

Draco examined the bite mark on her neck. Marking her had been pure instinct; he had not even realized what he was doing until the rusty tang of her blood hit his tongue. The skin was already healing into a scar which would alert all manner of magical creatures of her status.

“How big is the bite?” Hermione asked curiously. The pain of his fangs slicing into her skin had been negligible compared to the array of pleasurable sensations; being pressed against his bare chest was still thrilling.

“Not too big,” Draco assured her, “I doubt anyone will notice unless they’re looking for it; other Veela, Vampires and other magical creatures will see it clearly, though.”

Hermione pressed her palm against her chest; her heart was racing. She had heard that sex was very good exercise and now she believed it.

“I feel the need to apologize,” Draco said quietly.

Hermione regarded him worriedly, “For what?”

Finally, he was the one blushing, “I take pride in making sure my partner is fully satisfied. I owe you an orgasm.”

Hermione smiled at him, “I’m sure you won’t forget to, ah, return the favour.”

He kissed her temple, “I also didn’t last very long. Twenty minutes is pretty embarrassing.”

“What’s wrong with twenty minutes?”

Draco was grateful for her lack of experience, “I have a carefully cultivated reputation of sexual prowess,” he boasted, “Lasting less than an hour could compromise that.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “Well this mark on my neck means that your reputation is now entirely in my hands. I promise not to damage it unless you really annoy me.”

“Well, you are the only one who matters.”

“Has this changed anything?” Hermione asked, “The instincts, or whatever?”

Draco snuggled up next to her and felt a purr build up in his chest, “I can finally relax; I didn’t even realize how tense I was.”

“You haven’t been sleeping much.”

“Five hours a night, if I was lucky,” Draco agreed, “Now I feel like I could sleep for ten hours; if you’re nearby.”

“No overwhelming urge to get me pregnant?”

“I’m not sure,” Draco said thoughtfully, “If you wanted to, that would become my primary goal. I know that you don’t, so there is no compulsion. It’s hard to explain.”

“I’m listening.”

Draco pulled up the blanket to cover her breasts; they impaired his ability to think, let alone carry on a conversation.

“You know how in the lead up to exams; everything is stressful and overwhelming?”

“Vividly,” she could still remember how ‘mental’ she had been during the OWL year.

“Imagine that after six weeks of that, you are told you got the highest results possible. I’m living that relief and utter elation right now.”

Hermione accepted his light kiss with a smile. A movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention.

“Let’s hope Crookshanks is not the Animagus in the new prophecy,” Hermione giggled, “Because he was watching us have sex.”

Draco spun around to glare at the feline. Crookshanks dismissed him with a single flick of a furry ear.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Harry knew he was being silly. Hermione hadn’t treated him any differently after he and Ginny slept together.

He couldn’t quite meet her eyes over the breakfast table. He didn’t want to contemplate her naked at all; adding Malfoy to the mix was just disturbing. Was he supposed to congratulate her? Threaten Malfoy? Inquire about a betrothal contract? Only the second one appealed to him.

She and Draco had been absent for the entire night. Harry had tried to ignore the whole situation, until Susan and Hannah had squealed and gushed over the new mark on her neck at the breakfast table.

Draco was wearing a smirk which made Harry want to land a punch to the middle of his pointy face. Harry was sure he would have ended up with a broken nose if he had been so smug after losing his virginity to Ginny.

“Now, you know,” Ron hissed.

Harry regarded the redhead with confusion. It took him a few moments to realize his friend was commenting on his relationship with Ginny.

“I wanted to punch your face in,” Ron continued, “But I had to be _mature_. It stinks, doesn’t it?”

“At least I didn’t bite Ginny,” Harry grumbled. He wouldn’t remember being that annoying after the first time; only completely besotted.

“Are you sure about that?” Ron asked with a frown, “She had this nasty thing on her neck last week, and she seemed bloody proud of it.”

Harry blushed and occupied himself with breakfast. He was quite relieved when Professor McGonagall called for attention and announced that all Apprenticeship classes were suspended for the day so the castle could be checked for the presence of an Animagus.

Within ten minutes, Harry was handing over the Marauder’s Map to the Headmistress. He wondered if his father, Sirius and Remus were rolling in their graves or applauding his actions.

“It didn’t show Pettigrew, until I heard him mentioned in Third Year. We would have noticed some guy sleeping in Ron’s bed,” Harry explained.

“Don’t remind me!” Ron protested.

“I theorized that he did not show up when he was immersed in the instincts of his Animagus form,” Hermione offered.

Professor Flitwick nearly snatched the item when it was offered to him. He stared at the parchment with wide eyes.

While Harry showed the short wizard how to operate the map, Hermione slipped her hand under the table to rest on Draco’s thigh. For the first time since the Battle, she felt that she was living rather than just existing.

“A brilliant piece of Charm work,” Professor Flitwick was muttering, “Remus must have spent years on this; James and Sirius would not have had the patience.”

Narcissa escorted Lucius down to breakfast for the first time. There were a few hostile glances, which were promptly ignored.

Lucius found himself sitting across from a young dark-skinned man who watched him through suspicious eyes.

“I’m sorry; my memories have been wiped. I assume I did something awful to you?”

Dean was surprised at the odd greeting; no Slytherin had ever been as forthright.

“I was locked in your basement for months,” Dean said heavily, “You commented that it was a shame you didn’t have a wand to torture me with.”

Lucius glanced at Narcissa; she nodded tightly to confirm the story.

“I regret that I was such a bastard,” Lucius said honestly to the young wizard, “According to the Healers, there is no chance I will be able to reclaim my memories. I won’t be able to offer you an honest apology without them. Is there anything I can do to assist you, instead?”

Dean shook his head slowly; the man across from him was a stranger. “Do you still hate me for being muggle-born?”

Lucius tiled his head quizzically, “No; I find it embarrassing that I once believed that. Do you hate me for who I was?”

“I do,” Seamus piped up with his usual tact, “If you’re still playing brain-addled in five years, with all the Pureblood lackeys as witnesses, I might believe forgive you.”

“I have lackeys?” Lucius laughed, “How embarrassing.”

Neville watched the exchange silently. His thoughts were not on the blonde couple seated across from him.

“Did Riddle teach Bellatrix how to come back from the dead?” Neville asked quietly.

Narcissa paled, and Lucius touched her back gently with his hand, “My dear? Do you need to lie down?”

“No,” Narcissa answered, “Riddle was the creature who put that mark on your arm.”

“Oh,” Lucius glanced around at the faces watching him, “And Bellatrix was one of his followers?”

“The worst,” Narcissa confirmed, “She was also my eldest sister.”

Lucius tried to imagine a version of Narcissa who could be the ‘worst’ follower of Riddle.

“If he taught anyone that, it would have been her,” Narcissa said decisively.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione was the first to offer up her familiar to be checked with the Verum Forma spell, which would force any Animagus back into their true form.

Crookshanks flicked his tail in annoyance when the cat-witch pointed her wand at him. He listened to her words with growing boredom.

Draco was disappointed when the spell enveloped the half-kneazle and failed to do anything. Crookshanks lived up to his reputation but standing up, turning around, and presenting everyone waiting with a clear view of his butthole.

“That’s a relief,” Hermione laughed. Crookshanks rubbed up against her ankle in lieu of a reply.

Neville held Trevor in both hands; even after seven years the silly animal still tried to escape at every opportunity. The wizard was slightly worried that he had been living with Regulus Black since he received his familiar. Even a reformed Death Eater, had been a dedicated Death Eater in the beginning.

“Neville, your toad gives me the creeps,” Ron announced with his usual tact, “Are you sure he didn’t shack up with Umbridge in Fifth Year? He’s always been trying to escape; maybe he was looking for his mate?”

Neville snorted dismissively. Comparing his pet to Umbridge was an insult to the amphibian.

Minerva pointed her wand at the toad, who watched her with beady black eyes. For a moment, she could almost see Regulus Black looking back at her.

The spell failed again. Trevor leapt off the table and landed on Pansy’s shoe. Draco smiled in anticipation; if nothing else, Pansy was always entertaining.

“Longbottom; remove this creature from my person before I turn it into a pile of ash,” the witch said icily.

Neville was not scared of Pansy; he had faced Voldemort and his Death Eaters. He had been raised with manners though; an uncontrollable familiar was not polite.

Draco noticed Pansy check out Longbottom’s backside at the same time Harry did. They shared a glance of mutual revulsion.

“We’re leaving the owlery until last,” Professor McGonagall explained, “The entire stall will be required to check them without exhausting our magic.”

As each section of the castle was cleared of animals, it was temporarily sealed off. Draco was completely bored within two minutes but followed along with Hermione without complaint. He was rewarded for his patience when they finished scanning their section of the castle for animals; Hermione pulled him into a secluded alcove for a good snog.

Hermione was still quite entertained by Draco’s obsession with her breasts; he became transfixed by them as soon as they were visible. She even managed to turn his hair red without him noticing.

Ron and Daphne were in a similar situation when Harry found them. He covered his eyes with both hands and backed away in horror. A glimpse of Daphne would have been acceptable; seeing Ron half-naked was not at all welcome.

“Black has been identified!” the voice of Professor McGonagall echoed through the castle, bringing back memories of another booming voice during the Battle of Hogwarts.

Harry rushed toward the Great Hall, glad for the distraction. He suspected Regulus would be found in the Owlery, but to find him so soon meant he must have been elsewhere. Had he been living with one of his peers all these years?

Hagrid was standing in the middle of the Great Hall. He had been recovering from the Battle in France, under the care of Madam Maxine. Ron had made plenty of jokes on the subject already.

Harry rushed forward to greet the half-giant and receive a firm hug.

“it’s great ta see ya, ‘Arry,” Hagrid offered, “Jus’ got back, an’ found Fang bein’ dragged up ‘ere.”

“Sorry, Hagrid,” Flitwick offered, “I had to stun him; we couldn’t risk him escaping.”

Hagrid was still confused, “Escape? The old bugger sleeps all day!”

“Hagrid, I’m afraid Fang is an Animagus; as a human, he is known as Regulus Black.”


	82. Secrets Revealed

Hagrid snorted, “Pull th’ other one; I dinna hit my head that hard las’ month.”

“There is a simply spell to force an Animagus back into human form,” Minerva said seriously, “If Fang is a regular animal, it will have no effect on him at all.”

Hagrid stepped to the side to allow the witch to revive Fang.

“I’ve already sent a Patronus to Severus,” Flitwick said, still clutching the Marauder’s Map. He kept glancing down at it to confirm the name standing next to Hagrid.

“I agree, we should wait for Severus to arrive,” Minerva said.

“Fang can’t be a Death Eater,” Hagrid complained, “He’s loyal; he threw hi’self in front of Aurors when they tried to ‘rrest me.”

Harry pretended not to notice Draco and Hermione arriving in the Great Hall. Their clothes were distinctly ruffled.

“It would explain why he took off in the forest that time,” Harry mused.

“With my arm attached to his collar,” Draco recalled, “If I hadn’t frozen in fear, I would have been leading the escape. You were an idiot with no sense of self-preservation, even then.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “You were not exactly charming at that age, either.”

“Fang was smart enough to get back to Hagrid that night,” Hermione added, “And Sirius was a dog, too.”

“’e never trusted Moody,” Hagrid said suddenly, “The fake one.”

“He might have smelled the polyjuice potion?” Hermione suggested.

“Hagrid, where did you get Fang from?” Minerva asked. She could remember multiple instances of Fang being completely loyal; even seeing the map her colleague held did not convince her completely.

“’E was a stray in Hogsmeade,” Hagrid said thoughtfully, “Followed me ‘ome from the pub.”

“The Hog’s Head? Maybe we should ask Aberforth about Fang?” Flitwick suggested.

Draco watched Professor McGonagall purse her lips at that idea. Her reaction hinted at a mystery he wanted to examine.

Aberforth arrived seconds before Professor Snape stepped through the floo. The Potions Master narrowly avoided a collision and greeted the older wizard with a curt command to ‘move your leathery, old carcass out of the way’.

“Always a gentleman,” Aberforth teased, “Eileen had the same sharp tongue; before she went into hiding of course.”

Severus froze in place, “My mother died when I was sixteen,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

“Bullshit,” Aberforth scoffed, “She faked her death, changed her appearance and went into hiding.”

“Crazy, old goat,” Severus muttered.

“Go ask the new Mrs Filch about it,” Aberforth suggested smugly, “Irma should be back from the honeymoon soon.”

Aberforth chose to ignore the shocked wizard in favour of the Headmistress watching him warily.

“Minerva; you are as alluring as always; I keep hoping to find you in the pub, looking for some company.”

Hermione giggled into her hand. Draco was amused and nauseated at the same time. Flirting beyond a certain age need to be outlawed in public.

“I always suspected there was a strain of madness in the Dumbledore line,” Minerva replied smoothly, “Try not to display it so publicly.”

Hagrid glanced between the couple with a bushy grin. Draco did not want to know how much flirting had occurred over the decades.

“I summoned you here to ask about Fang,” Flitwick interrupted, “We believe he is an Animagus.”

Aberforth smiled down at the unconscious dog, “He certainly is. Have you identified him, yet?”

“Regulus Black; according to this map,” Flitwick replied.

“Do you want the short version or the full tale?”

Minerva sighed, “The latter.”

Aberforth returned his attention to the witch, “Regulus was never cut out to be a Death Eater. Like Severus, he took the mark before realizing how evil Voldemort was. He was delivered to be one evening, by the meddling bird known as Fawkes.”

“Did Albus know?” Severus demanded.

“No. Fawkes stayed with Albus for decades, but my brother was not the first in the family to attract the Phoenix. Fawkes joined the family on the shoulder of our mother; his song could calm Arianna when nothing else could.”

“Why didn’t Skeeter mention that in her book?” Hermione asked.

Aberforth smiled at the young witch, “Skeeter was interested in my brother and Grindelwald; Fawkes left after my mother died and didn’t return until after Grindelwald was defeated.”

“As fascinating as this is, can we move on to Regulus Black wearing a dog collar?” Severus said abruptly.

Aberforth smiled at him, “Reg was babbling about Inferi and thirst. It took me hours to hydrate him enough to make him coherent. Even then, he insisted he had destroyed something terrible Riddle had made and was going to be killed. I believed him.”

Hagrid crouched down next to Fang and patted the prone animal gently.

“Reg was a regular in the pub when he was a teenager,” Aberforth recalled sadly, “I don’t think he had any real friends, only acquaintances. After Sirius left, he became even more isolated as the heir presumptive of the Black House.”

Aberforth was watching Hagrid and Fang sadly.

“I suggested he flee overseas, as far from Britain as possible. He refused but wouldn’t explain what was keeping him here. He revealed his Animagus form, and I suggested he would be safe with Hagrid.”

“Reg was always polite, even if ‘is mates were turds,” Hagrid sighed.

“Can Verum Forma be used while he is unconscious?” Minerva wondered aloud.

“I’ll take the collar off,” Aberforth offered, “I charmed it to block that spell.”

“What if you had died?” Severus demanded, “Would he have been trapped as a dog for the rest of his life?”

“He doesn’t know he is a human,” Aberforth protested as he removed the collar, “It would have fallen off if I had snuffed it. His memories should be returning now.”

“Will ‘e remember me?” Hagrid asked worriedly.

“He should,” Aberforth assured him, “His memories and personality were submerged by the charm.”

“Why didn’t you retrieve him earlier?” Draco asked.

Aberforth stepped back to give Minerva room to enervate the canine, “I did in 1982; he insisted Voldemort would be back because the mark was still there; he was sure he had failed to make Riddle mortal. I gave him a choice, and he decided to remain with Hagrid.”

Harry was frowning at the old wizard, “You could have warned Albus; he could have gotten rid of the Horcruxes before I even arrived at Hogwarts.”

“Hindsight is always clear,” Aberforth pointed out, “My brother knew more about the Dark Arts than that Snake-Eyed git ever did. I’d bet my life that he knew about Horcruxes before you were born. Turning Reg over would not have helped; he didn’t know about any others. Albus would have ripped his mind apart for no reason.”

Minerva stepped forward to cast the spell to revive the animal. She held her wand aloft in case he tried to flee.

As the glow faded, Fang crouched down on the floor and whined up at the people hovering near him.

“It’s all right, Reg,” Aberforth offered gently, “Voldemort is properly dead this time; Minerva will cast the spell on you to turn you back into your old self.”

Fang was staring at Severus apprehensively. It did not take much brainpower to realize the connections being made.

“Severus was a spy, working for Albus,” Aberforth explained, “The interfering, arrogant, old -”

“Thank-you Aberforth,” Minerva said tightly.

“SEVERUS SNAPE!” the shrill bellow of a pissed off witch exploded through the great hall.

Hermione watched Andromeda stomp over wearing a thunderous expression. She was vividly reminded of Molly Weasley screeching a challenge to Bellatrix Lestrange in the same room.

“Shit,” Severus managed. He appeared more pale than usual.

Draco grinned; his godfather was clearly in deep trouble. He looked forward to the impending entertainment.

“I decide what is too dangerous for me, Severus!” Andromeda yelled at the wizard, who was backing away.

“I assume my Patronus arrived while you were with Andromeda?” Minerva mused aloud. She was enjoying the show too.

“Indeed. This git petrified me, said some bullshit about ‘keeping me safe’ and left! Regulus is my cousin! I have a right to know he has been found!”

Severus wasn’t stupid enough to argue. Draco leaned closer to hear what the Potion’s Master was saying.

“I apologize; I should have been more considerate,” Severus whispered, “If he is dangerous; if he hurt you, I couldn’t…….” he trailed off worriedly.

“You are a prat, and we will be talking about this later!” Andromeda growled. She softened enough to let him take her hand.

A shout of laughter echoed around the room. Regulus Black lay on his side on the stone floor, wheezing though his mirth.

“Is he insane?” Minerva asked bluntly.

“Considering his immediate family; probably,” Severus intoned in a disapproving voice.

“Watch it, you,” Andromeda warned.

“Snape never even flinched around the Dark Lord,” Regulus laughed, “But he cowers from you, Andy!”

Andromeda glared at her cousin, “Call me that again, and I’ll turn you into a dog permanently!”

Severus sneered at the wizard sitting on the floor, “Surely twelve years of licking your own testicles is enough for one lifetime?”

Aberforth offered Regulus a hand to help him to his feet, “You’re lucky you have them at all; I had to talk Hagrid out of getting you neutered a few years ago.”

Hermione pressed her face into Draco’s shoulder to smother her giggles.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“That was weird,” Harry decided aloud.

Regulus had been shuttled off to the Infirmary for a check-up. Madam Pomfrey was on holiday visiting her daughter, so Draco wasn’t sure who was filling in.

“What’s normal around here?” Draco responded with a shrug, “Between possessed professors, giant snakes and escaped prisoners, I’m yet to experience ‘normal’ in this castle.”

Ron and Daphne finally emerged from whichever alcove they had decided to desecrate. Hermione giggled and quietly pointed out that Daphne’s shirt had missed a button as Harry updated them on the discovery of Regulus Black.

“He was laughing at Snape?” Ron repeated, “After years as a dog, shouldn’t he have been confused, or scared?”

“Exactly!” Harry insisted, “His reaction wasn’t right.”

“You live as a dog for twenty years, and see how ‘right’ you are,” Draco scoffed, “Some people resort to humour in uncomfortable situations. For example, did Weaslette laugh at you the first time you took your pants off?”

Draco dodged the elbow Hermione aimed at him, but wasn’t fast enough to avoid Daphne’s hand, which connected with the back of his head.

“No,” Harry replied easily, “Though, I think I now know what Hermione’s reaction to your attempts at seduction was.”

“Drop it boys,” Daphne commanded, “Or I’ll cast some invisibility hexes on your clothes so you can actually compare sizes.”

“And I’ll let her,” Hermione added.

Harry blushed and tried not to cover his groin with his hands, “Regulus was acting weird, right? We know he turned against Voldemort, but could someone have cast an Imperious or something?”

Hermione shared an apprehensive glance with her mate before turning to address her friend, “Harry, I think you’re overanalysing this. Regulus is surely disoriented.”

Draco grinned at the memory, “And seeing Snape backing away from Dromeda with fear in his eyes was pretty amazing.”

“Are you sure?”

“Don’t look so disappointed, Harry,” Hermione consoled, “You’re used to having a mystery to solve each year. Voldemort is dead; you can relax.”

“I think he’s missing his fiancée,” Daphne teased.

Ron appeared sceptical, “After only a couple of days?”

Daphne tilted her head and smiled charmingly at him, “You missed me after only a few hours, didn’t you?”

The dopey expression Draco hated appeared on the gormless, freckled face, “Of course; but they’ve been together for ages.”

“That doesn’t mean they miss each other any less,” Daphne insisted.

“She’s my sister,” Ron mumbled.

“Just stop talking, Weasley,” Draco chuckled, “You’re digging a hole you’ll never get out of.”

“I’m sure Professor McGonagall would let you visit Ginny in the evenings,” Hermione said to Harry.

“You are all annoying!” Harry huffed. He headed up to the Infirmary to see what was happening with Regulus.


	83. Past Friendships

Regulus Black was simply overwhelmed. Years of living with Hagrid as a dog were easy to recall; the older memories of living as a wizard were harder to assimilate.

Severus Snape had been in the year above Regulus at Hogwarts. He had always been a loner, primarily due to his bizarre friendship with Lily Evans. It had taken Snape a few years to ignore he taunts about Lily’s blood status and develop that blank expression he had mastered by the time he took the mark.

Within Slytherin House, Regulus was respected as the Heir to the House of Black. No-one was prepared to declare him as a friend or enemy, so he had been very isolated. Severus was in a similarly alone, and the closest he had to a friend. Even so, he had learned never to trust anyone as a child.

Severus had aged terribly. The lines around his eyes from scowling had become permanent features.

“I find it ironic that we are the only Death Eaters who have survived with our memories and freedom intact,” Severus mused aloud.

Regulus crack open one eye. Everyone else had believed his act when he had pretended to fall asleep.

“I wish you have come to me when you discovered the Horcruxes,” Severus continued.

“In hindsight, you’re bloody lucky I didn’t,” Regulus replied flatly, “I always sucked at Occlumency. I still find it hard to believe you were on Dumbledore’s side all those years; I couldn’t stand the manipulative, old fart.”

“He was the lesser of two evils,” Severus admitted, “In 1981, the Dark Lord killed Lily. I devoted myself to getting revenge in her name.”

Regulus remembered the teenagers in the hall; they were vaguely familiar.

“The boy with the glasses; he has her eyes.”

Severus nodded, “The Dark Lord killed Lily and her husband; James Potter. For some reason, he couldn’t kill Harry. The boy survived with a scar on his head and the Dark Lord disappeared.”

“Abe changed me back and explained that. They never found the body; he wasn’t really dead.”

“No, he wasn’t. Now, he is. The mark is faded and clearly inactive. Voldemort is burning in hell where he belongs,” Severus assured him.

The spark of hope in his chest worried Regulus. Could he really begin to live his life again?

“The annoying blonde wizard you met is Draco Malfoy, my godson. He inherited the Veela gene and transitioned last month; his mate is a muggle-born.”

Regulus laughed aloud, “I bet Lucius loved that!”

Severus shrugged, “I doubt he cares now; his memory was wiped. He is currently reading First-Year textbooks to relearn how to control his magic.”

Regulus smirked, though it was a faded echo of what Severus could remember, “Karma strikes in his case, at least.”

“It is rather amusing to contemplate. Funnily enough, he is pleasant company now,” Severus continued, “He finds the Pureblood ideals quite baffling.”

The conversation turned to the years Regulus had lived as a dog. Severus was explaining the impact of the ‘Boy-Who-Lived’ legend when the wizard in question hesitantly entered the infirmary.

“Of course, the little turd who showed up at Hogwarts didn’t live up to the legend at all,” Severus mused.

“Present,” Harry joked.

“You’re supposed to cower from one of my insults, boy,” Severus growled.

Harry shrugged, “I can tell that you don’t mean them; it took a few years to get your sense of humour.”

“I don’t have a sense of humour,” Severus snorted.

“You do,” Regulus argued, “Unfortunately, most people do not have the intelligence to understand it.”

“It is easier to claim not to have one, than to watch their brains overload as they try to comprehend what I say,” Severus replied haughtily.

Regulus regarded the young wizard who had come to visit. The resemblance to James Potter was uncanny.

“Is he as bad as his father?” Regulus asked Severus.

“No-one could be that bad without calling themselves a ‘Dark Lord’,” Severus snorted, while Harry was mildly offended, “He has enough of Lily in him to suppress the arrogant prat tendencies.”

Regulus remembered Lily, and the attachment Severus had had to her. Though the older wizard had placed the redhead on a pedestal, Regulus had recognised her less-than-perfect qualities. She had protested the bullying the Marauders engaged in, but only when they targeted Severus. When other Slytherins were victimised, she simply ignored it. She could be shallow and self-absorbed; how Severus was blind to her flaws flummoxed him.

Regulus had only broached the subject with Severus once, when the latter was in Fourth Year. Lily had not only witnessed the Marauders hang a Second-Year Slytherin from a tree, but had joined in with the taunting. She agreed with the stereotype that Slytherins were all future Death Eaters, which most Gryffindors believed blindly. Regulus suspected that the witch had been looking for a reason to ditch her long-time friend well before the incident after the OWL exams.

Regulus had made a point of observing the two after the incident at the tree. The girl manipulated Severus so easily, she could have been sorted into Slytherin. Hearing her complain of the behaviour of Sirius toward her had prompted Severus to pick a fight with the Gryffindor within the hour. Regulus couldn’t believe how quickly his fellow Slytherin followed the prompts of the only witch to look at him with a charming smile.

Severus refused to hear a word against his friend; everything was the fault of Potter and Sirius. Lily Evans was the untainted angel in his eyes.

The association between the two had isolated Severus more than his sharp wit and intelligence ever could. Regulus had never been able to understand what benefit either of them had gained from the friendship.

As he had matured, Regulus had been able to recognise how dependant Severus was on his Gryffindor friend; she was his moral compass and the only person he really trusted. Regulus had been sad to realise how devastated Severus was going to be when Lily did something to betray that trust; and he had been sure she would remove her Slytherin friend from her life one day.

Questioning the motives of Lily Evans was a sure way to anger Severus and push him away. Regulus knew his own parents were nothing close to normal, but he could recognise the unhealthy obsession his friend had with the Gryffindor witch.

“Coming from you, that is a compliment,” Harry replied to the frowning Professor, breaking Regulus out of his depressing thoughts of the past.

“Merlin forbid,” Severus muttered.

Harry turned his attention to the wizard on the bed who resembled the godfather he had lost. He wasn’t sure where the similar features were, but the recognition was there.

“I wanted to speak to you, Mr Black,” Harry said quietly, “About Sirius.”

Severus frowned, “As you both know my opinion of that mutt, please excuse me.”

“You don’t want to stay, to discuss my charming brother?” Regulus teased.

“I’d rather clean all the castle toilets with my bare hands, during a diarrhoea epidemic,” Severus sneered as he left.

“He is as charming as ever,” Regulus sighed, “It is nice to meet you, Mr Potter. Take a seat.”

Harry sat down in the chair Snape had vacated, “Just call me Harry.”

“Then drop the Mr Black business, and call me Regulus. Mr Black was my father; a spineless wizard even before my mother claimed possession of his testicles.”

Harry snorted at that awful image, “Um, ok.”

“I understand that Sirius passed away a few years ago?” Regulus asked quietly.

Harry nodded, suddenly finding it hard to form coherent words.

“And he was your Godfather?”

“I only knew him for two years,” Harry said quietly, “But he was……….”

Regulus nodded. His own father had existed far too deeply in Walburga’s shadow to be a decent role model. Uncle Alphard had been a good option, until he was blasted off the tree. Regulus could easily see how an orphaned boy would see Sirius as a father-figure.

“Sirius has his flaws, but he was incredibly loyal to his friends,” Regulus offered, “Even if he never said it openly, I am sure he saw you as an adopted son. He certainly adopted James Potter as a brother.”

There was no sadness in his voice, which confused Harry.

Regulus rolled his eyes, “You are as easy to read as a book. I loved my brother, but we were never close. Truthfully, I lost him the moment he was sorted into Gryffindor.”

Harry couldn’t imagine being so accepting, “He was killed by Bellatrix Lestrange. There is also a Prophecy about her which you should know about.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione felt bad that it took her until after dinner to realize Neville was clearly upset. He sat near the fireplace, staring at the flames without speaking. Hannah sat next to him, holding his hand.

Hermione waited until Hannah got up to go to the bathroom to approach Neville.

Draco was reading; while she was in sight, he was not bothered by her movements. He did keep a close eye on the males in the room in case any of them posed a threat to his mate.

“Nev, you look miserable. What’s wrong?”

Neville glanced over at the worried brunette with the faint echo of a smile, “St Mungo’s sent me an owl this afternoon. My parents have been getting better since the Battle. Today they discovered that someone had stolen some of mum’s blood, and they are back to how they were before that bitch died.”

Hermione held out her arms to offer a hug, “I’m so sorry, Neville.”

Neville accepter her hug warily, meeting the gaze of the Veela across the room. Draco didn’t attack, which he took as a sign that he wasn’t about to have a claw shoved through his chest.

“Someone stole my mum’s blood,” Neville added when Hermione pulled away, “Professor McGonagall thinks it was used to resurrect that bitch.”

Hearing Neville swear was so foreign to Hermione. She considered it akin to Voldemort being charming; while quite possible in the right circumstances, it made her stomach churn.

“Lestrange had thousands of enemies; it pisses me off that she chose to violate my mum; again.”

Hermione knew there was nothing she could say or do to comfort him, “I doubt she will be alive long. Between you, Snape and Regulus, her days are numbered.”

Neville nodded, the anger and determination clearly etched on his features, “And I’m already counting down.”

Draco glanced over at Hannah, before returning his attention to the book he was reading. Hannah trusted Hermione, but her Veela suitor was another matter.

Even if his past behaviour was forgiven, the blonde was simply off-putting. He had always been handsome in a pompous way, and the Veela features had emphasised every attractive feature he had.

Hannah didn’t like the way her eyes were drawn to him, or the way he seemed to revel in the attention. He was as trustworthy as a Blast-ended Skrewt.

Hannah chose to let Neville reveal his burdens to Hermione. He had already shared his concerns with his girlfriend, and Hannah had been as supportive as she knew how to be.

Hannah admired Hermione Granger, and she always had. Of course, her intelligence had made most of her peers envious since First Year, but that was not what Hannah respected. Hermione was infinitely adaptable in a way that Hannah could never be. The Gryffindor could be compassionate one day, and then completely ruthless the next. The spots Marietta Edgecombe bore were a scary warning to not mess with the Gryffindor witch.

Hannah could take comfort in the knowledge that the Death Eater who had killed her mother had been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts; testimony from others still in custody had pointed the finger at Phillip Crabbe, whose body had been found in various pieces near the Forbidden Forest. She was glad she did not have to face Vincent Crabbe, even if his death had been distressing to hear about.

Neville was tormented by the knowledge that Bellatrix was alive again, and Hannah could not ease his pain. Hannah appreciated the way Hermione reached out to comfort Neville, simply because he needed it. If anyone could use cold logic to remind Neville of the folly of chasing after Bellatrix, it was Hermione.


	84. Talking to Regulus

Draco waited until everyone else had retired for the night to make his move. Now that their secret was known in the castle, Hermione slept in his bed.

He had hoped that someone would try to have a talk about reputation or something to his mate, just so he could see the resulting explosion. Sadly, they all had too much sense to try to talk old-fashioned values into the modern witch.

Once Hermione was sleeping peacefully, Draco slipped out of the bed and picked up his robes. The scars on his back were occasionally itchy, but no longer painful.

The lack of security around the infirmary was disappointing. When Madam Pomfrey returned, she would be livid. Draco wasn’t sure why she had returned to care for Lucius before leaving again; perhaps she had simply been curious.

Regulus was woken by the sound of the door opening. After nearly two decades as a dog, his hearing was amazing. He opened one eye to spy the Malfoy boy closing the door gently. Regulus pretended to be asleep.

The visitor was quite stealthy, but Regulus could detect when he sat down on the chair at his bedside.

Aberforth had spent most of the afternoon visiting and Severus had returned after dinner. Regulus could tell that his latest guest was neither of them.

“I know you’re awake, Mr Black,” a male voice said impatiently.

“How?” Regulus asked.

“Your heartrate increased when I entered,” the blonde explained.

“How could you hear my heartbeat?” Regulus pulled himself up into a seated position.

“I’m a Veela. Draco Malfoy.”

Regulus studied the wizard, “Severus mentioned that. You have my condolences; for the Veela and your father.”

“I’m adapting,” Draco replied dismissively, “But I do want to talk to you about Bellatrix, the crazy bitch.”

“Harry told me about a Prophecy; I hate those things.”

“Bellatrix tortured my mate and left her with permanent scars. I want her dead. You are in the prophecy, but I will gladly help in any way I can,” Draco growled.

Regulus had fallen back into the war mentality quite easily. Once Harry had explained what the locket had been, he was sure he knew where his dear cousin would hide one of her own.

“My reappearance will be kept a secret for as long as possible,” Regulus said quietly, “The new Minister has sworn the two Aurors to secrecy. By now, Bella will have the Resurrection Stone. I have asked Minerva to check if it has been removed from Dumbledore’s tomb, as I suspect she has the Elder Wand too.”

Hermione had explained the Deathly Hallows, though it sounded far-fetched to him at the time.

“She will be after the cloak,” Draco deduced.

Regulus nodded, “Harry is going to make sure it is on him all the time; and he has strict instructions to stay in the castle.”

Draco snorted, “He has never been good at following instructions. I’ll let the other Eighth Years know, so we can all babysit him.”

“His father was the same; rules didn’t apply to him.”

Draco shrugged, “Potter is the Boy-Who-Lived; everyone kisses his arse. Thankfully, I am there to pop his head before it inflates too much.”

The sound of a Floo activating in Madam Pomfrey’s office distracted both wizards. Within minutes, the witch in question appeared in the doorway.

Once greetings were exchanged, Regulus took a deep breath and grinned at her, “You said you were going back to visit your daughter,” he teased.

Poppy frowned at her patient, “What of it?”

“Unless your daughter lives at the Hogs Head and goes by the name of Aberforth, you were lying.”

Draco giggled at the scowl aimed at his cousin. He blocked the image of Aberforth and Madam Pomfrey getting busy by convincing himself that anyone over fifty never engaged in anything more intimate than sharing a pot of tea.

“The real question remains,” Regulus mused, “How did an old fart like Aberforth convince a sexy woman like you to give him the time of day?”

Draco smirked at the blatant charm; it was clearly a Black trait.

“I am nearly ninety years old,” Poppy pointed out, “If Aberforth is an old fart, what am I?”

“Extremely tolerant?” Draco guessed.

Regulus silently approved of the younger wizard; he had clearly inherited his charisma from his mother. Lucius had only managed to secure a Black bride due to his well-endowed Gringotts vault.

“You two are trouble,” Poppy decided, “My relationship with Aberforth is none of your business; and I expect you to keep any speculation to yourselves.”

“Yes ma’am,” Regulus agreed, “I would never betray the witch who has easy access to my medical file.”

Poppy regarded him dubiously, before turning her gaze onto Draco. The blonde held his hands up in surrender.

“My lips are sealed,” he promised.

“They had better be,” Poppy replied, “Otherwise, I know a very effective impotence spell.”

“Have you tried it on Aberforth?” Regulus teased, “I hear he’s a horny, old goat.”

Regulus yelped when a stinging hex hit his bare arm, “So violent!” he cried, “Why are you allowed to work in a school?”

Poppy rolled her eyes at him, “So I can keep miscreants like you in line.”

“If I were twenty years older, would you go out with me?” Regulus sighed.

“Goodnight, Regulus. Try not to fall under his influence, Draco.”

Poppy headed back to her office, where the private entrance to her quarters was concealed. Regulus had been the quiet one in the family; she was amused to realize he had all the flirting skills of his older brother.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Regulus hadn’t expected the Malfoy heir to be so likeable. Though the blonde warned him that he had been a complete prat before Hermione had sorted him out, Regulus was more interested in the present.

Lucius had always been irritating; Regulus used to wonder who spent longer in front of the mirror when he went out on a date with Narcissa. Sadly, he had never been confident enough to make the joke aloud.

Narcissa had assured him that she was happy with her new, improved husband. Regulus had refrained from pointing out that there were only a handful of Magicals in existence who were worse than the previous version of Lucius Malfoy.

Andromeda had been polite, but distant. Regulus had been eleven when she had been cast from the family for marrying a muggleborn, so he understood her reservation.

No-one had mentioned the prophecy which slated him to be the one to kill Bellatrix permanently, though the knowledge seemed to hang in the air between them.

Regulus was not bold enough to ask either witch if she would regret the death of their older sister; and he was sure he would be the victor in any confrontation. Ever since Fawkes had saved him from that cave, he had known he had something important to do. Taking out the crazy cousin who brought shame to the entire family fitted the bill quite well.

After nearly twenty years as a dog who slept most of the time, Regulus was disinterested in drifting back into unconsciousness. Severus had always been an insomniac, so he half-expected the surly wizard to drop by.

When Severus did arrive, he was not alone. The baby perched on his hip gazed around the room with a bright smile.

Regulus was usually good at controlling his emotions, but there were limits.

Severus was not impressed by the explosion of laughter coming from the direction of the bed. Teddy began to laugh too.

“Don’t encourage him,” Severus said aloud, “He is just a child.”  
“Sorry,” Regulus choked out, completely unrepentant, “But he looks like a little Severus!”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Severus said flatly.

Teddy reached out toward Regulus. Severus eyes the man for a few long moments before allowing the weight of the child to shift onto the bed.

“Don’t let him fall,” Severus warned, “Or you will have to answer to Andromeda.”

“Not you?” Regulus teased. Teddy babbled to himself as the adults spoke.

Teddy stuffed his fist into his mouth and hummed happily. Severus could recall many, many students who had regularly sported the same gormless expression. Some had even drooled. At least, there was hope that he was not be a complete dunderhead by the time he reached puberty.

“Andromeda values him,” Severus admitted, “And I prefer her to be happy.”

From Severus, that was almost a declaration of affection.

“So, how did you manage to talk my cousin into putting up with your sarcastic hide?” Regulus asked.

“Narcissa brought her along to visit me at Spinner’s End,” Severus explained as he sat down, “Andromeda declared the house was a dump, and I was to move into the spare room at her house. It wasn’t a suggestion.”

Regulus had always known his mother was a bit on the crazy side, but he had admired her strength of character. Andromeda had already shown her bravery, and he hoped that Bellatrix kept all the insanity to herself. Narcissa had always been relatively sane; except for her choice of husband.

“Andromeda was exiled before I started at Hogwarts,” Regulus recalled, “What is she like?”

Severus wasn’t sure how to describe the woman who was drawing him back into the world. Lily had prattled on endlessly about Andromeda’s virtues before fading back into the afterlife. Severus had gained closure, along with a headache.

“She is independent, strong-willed and loyal. She is certainly more patient than I deserve.”

“If I can claim the title of Lord Black, do you think she would want to be reinstated into the family?”

Severus raised a single eyebrow, “I would not presume to know; you should ask her.”

“Andy always looked like Bella, but without the crazy. Mother ranted for days when she ran off with the muggle-born.”

“Ted Tonks was killed a few months ago,” Severus said, “Andromeda still mourns him, but she knows he would be the first to order her to keep living.”

“Sirius always admired her courage,” Regulus said while looking at Teddy, “But, he was an idiot, so I didn’t pay much attention to him. Did Dumbledore really bring back Lupin to teach here?”

Recounting the experiences of Lupin’s brief tenure as a Professor was oddly cathartic. Regulus was not surprised that Sirius was an animagus; he had been talking about it since he was eleven. He was appalled that Lupin had not shared such a vital piece of information while Sirius was believed to be a murderer.

“Typical Gryffindor favouritism,” Regulus scoffed, “As long as Dumbledore was in charge, they could get away with everything.”

“Even after all these years, I couldn’t figure him out,” Severus agreed, “For someone so intelligence, he was very ignorant. Since Riddle became evil, all Slytherins had to be viewed with suspicion.”

“I bet he let Sirius rot in Azkaban because he poked a hole in the black-and-white view the old fart developed as he went senile.”

Severus had not spared a thought for Sirius while the latter was in Azkaban; after getting away with attempted murder at sixteen, the punishment seemed fitting.

When the innocence of the aggravating wizard was revealed, Severus began to wonder how Dumbledore had justified the Lord of a Noble House being thrown to the dementors without a trial. The corruption of the Ministry was notorious to everyone with a functioning brain cell, and Bartemius Crouch Sr was as ruthless as any Death Eater when it came to his narrow view of the world.

The logistics of making Sirius disappear into an Azkaban cell were understandable; Severus could not understand how Dumbledore justified his actions to himself. For someone who preached tolerance with his false grandfather persona, he was a walking contradiction.

“Power corrupts,” Regulus said simply, “And he had everyone kissing his arse since he defeated Grindelwald. Grandfather Black was the same; he was lost in the past for as long as I knew him. He would rant about purity, the corruption of Mudbloods and how Grindelwald would make the world better. It was bloody sad.”

“Dumbledore certainly screwed up Potter,” Severus added, “He still thinks the old man was a saint.”

Regulus shook his head, “Why are we the only ones who see though his crap?”

Severus smirked, “They choose not to. If they accept that he was a manipulative bastard, they might have to do something about the state of the world.”

“So, it will be left up to us,” Regulus surmised.

“Not me,” Severus snorted, “I’ve been reinstated as the Heir to the Prince family; there’s a nice house in Belgium waiting for me. If an angry mob tries to blame you and I for the woes of the world, I’ll find a spare room for you.”

“I might just take you up on that.”


	85. Enjoying the Veela

Draco had never allowed a bed partner to blindfold him before. After hearing her whispered suggestion, he had agreed too quickly.

When his wrists were bound and pulled back toward the corners of the bed he felt a tremor of apprehension slide through him.

“I’ve never let a girl do this before,” Draco said quickly.

“What about a guy?” Hermione chuckled.

“No! I don’t swing that way.”

“Just checking.”

Hermione wasn’t sure where to start. The blankets covered him from the waist up, so she decided to begin with his face.

“Your hair is so much better without all that hair gel,” she mused aloud.

Draco enjoyed feeling her hand slide across his head. The tiny gap at the bottom of the blindfold allowed him to see her breasts sway as she moved. She was utterly glorious.

Hermione allowed her hand to trail down his arm and admired the smug smile he was wearing. She ran one finger along his nose, which he crinkled at her.

“You’ll make me sneeze,” Draco warned.

“Why didn’t you ever smile like that at Hogwarts?” Hermione asked curiously.

“I did; whenever I had a sexy female in my bed.”

“No wonder I never saw it,” she replied; “Should your new title be ‘The Whore of Hogwarts’?”

“That’s just cruel. Are you going to feel me up or should I be giving instructions?” Draco wondered.

“I don’t know how you managed to get any girl to sleep with you,” Hermione retorted.

“I didn’t have to convince any of them,” he revealed, “They wanted my attention for whatever reason and were out to seduce me. One just wanted to be admitted to the snobby social circle my mother has so much influence in.”

“A girl had sex with you to get to your mother? That’s just sick.”

Draco shrugged, “Welcome to the convoluted world of pureblood politics. This conversation is not a turn on at all. Why don’t you slip your hand lower and see what pops up?”

Hermione shoved the blanked down and grabbed his penis in her fist. Draco yelped and nearly pulled out his shoulder joints. He dropped a few curse words which made her smile.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, mate?” she asked sweetly. She expected him to demand she release him or complain that her grip was strangling him. She did not expect him to arch his hips into her hand and moan.

“You need more practise, but it’s a start,” Draco told her.

“I should have known you’d like it rough,” she snorted.

“Be kind to the Dragon, and the Dragon will be nice to you,” Draco chuckled.

“Have you seriously named your penis?” Hermione demanded, “Just when I thought you couldn’t be any weirder.”

“Lots of guys do,” Draco replied easily, “It has a separate brain, so he deserves a name.”

“It does not have a brain.”

“Sure, he does. I spent years telling myself that you were gross, and I hated you but he wouldn’t listen. I’d dream of you coming into my dorm wearing -”

“If you don’t shut up I’ll gag you and leave you here,” Hermione threatened.

“You wouldn’t; I’m you’re sexy Veela and you crave by body.”

“Wait a second,” Hermione mused aloud, “If you named your penis a Dragon, and your name is Draco which means Dragon you must be saying you’re a dick? That totally makes sense now.”

“You know, even while you try to mock me I’m still turned on,” Draco replied, “If you’ve finished admiring my sexy body, I’d like to do something about getting you to relax.”

“I’m not sure if you’re up to the task,” Hermione teased.

“Oh! A challenge!” Within seconds his wand was in his hand and his arms were free.

“No fair!” Hermione complained.

Draco shrugged, “Wandless and wordless magic was hard to master but who wants to be without their wand?”

He threw off the blankets and stood up without hesitating. Hermione blushed at the sight of his erection pointing the way forward.

“Watch out, you’ll give yourself brain damage waving that around,” she muttered.

“Not a chance.”

She watched him drag over a chair which appeared out of nowhere, while trying to keep her eyes off the various interesting parts of his body. She still felt odd about ogling him openly.

“Where do you get the confidence to wander around naked?” she asked.

He shrugged, “I’ve been through worse, and survived. I trust you and I don’t plan to strip for anyone else, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“It will take me a bit longer to wander around naked.”

Draco sat down on the chair and patted his thighs encouragingly, “Come sit down.”

Hermione gaped at him, “Right.”

Draco rolled his eyes, “You challenged me to make you relax and I am going to follow through. This is the best position to get you off, so come over here.”

“That’s the worst attempt at seduction I have ever heard,” Hermione decided.

She expected him to reply with a cutting remark as he always had in school. She was very surprised by the way his shoulders slumped and he sighed.

“Please?” Draco implored.

Hermione blinked at him and pressed her bottom lip between her teeth, “Are you seriously begging me to -” she waved a hand at him to indicate what she meant.

“I am begging you to come over here and ride my cock so you can experience an explosive orgasm,” Draco clarified, “Will you please stop being so stubborn?”

The rush of excitement she experienced at his crass words bolstered her courage. She let the blanket slip from her body and uncoiled her legs gracefully. She enjoyed the way his eyes slipped along her body appreciatively.

“You are gorgeous,” Draco pointed out, “How did you manage to hide that body under school robes for so long?”

Hermione stood in front of him with her hands on her hips, “The secret is rather simple; I kept my clothes on.”

Draco smiled and ran his hands along her hips, “Not anymore. I much prefer you without clothes.”

Hermione gulped at the waving appendage he was so easily able to ignore, “Your ‘Dragon’ is waving at me.”

“Come say hello,” he suggested.

“I thought Veela were supposed to be charming?”

“I am being charming. Have I told you how gorgeous your tits are today?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “This is so awkward,” she muttered.

“Straddle me,” Draco encouraged, “sit on my thighs first.”

That wasn’t too bad. She sat as far back from his torso as she could without falling off. She was slightly higher than him and he was perfectly placed to ogle her breasts.

“Hug me so you can get used to the position,” Draco encouraged. He pressed his erection against his stomach to limit her anxiety.

Hermione shifted forward hesitantly until her breasts were pressed against his chest. He tucked his head under her chin.

“Doesn’t this feel rather intimate?” Draco asked.

It sounded like a rhetorical question, so she didn’t bother answering.

“You have no idea how many times I have imagined this,” Draco sighed.

“With me in particular or in general with any woman?”

Draco tilted his head back to meet her eyes, “With you. Any time I was with someone else I had to resort to imagining you beneath me or riding me to finish the job.”

“Why me?”

He nuzzled her breasts while his hands squeezed her bottom, “You are the pinnacle of intelligence, warmth, loyalty and compassion. I always knew you were far too good for me and I couldn’t stop wanting you.”

“I would like to believe you,” Hermione admitted, “But there is a tiny part of me which is sure you are full of shit.”

Draco grinned up at her, “I admired you well before puberty, so we can’t blame the Veela gene.”

Hermione recognised the sneaky expression he wore as she had seen it often.

“What are you doing now?”

“Nothing,” he replied. He leaned back just enough to slip his hand between their bodies. Seconds later she could feel a delicious pressure between her legs.

“I would be incompetent if I didn’t make sure you were very familiar with what I can do for your clitoris,” Draco explained smugly.

Hermione moaned softly as he pressed her hips into his body firmly. How had she never known what her body was capable of? She barely noticed that his tongue was playing with one of her nipples while the other breast was firmly cradled in his hand.

She wanted more. She wanted to experience what her body was hinting at.

_“What’s next?”_ She asked softly.

“Whatever you want,” he replied.

“I don’t know what to do,” she admitted.

Draco groaned into her chest, “Are you asking for some hints?”

“Do you want me to ride your cock or not?” Hermione demanded irritably.

“Always so bossy,” Draco sighed, “It was always to difficult pretending to be angry when you screamed insults at me. It made me want to bend you over something.”

His hips pushed up into hers while his hands pulled her closer.

“Are you teasing me?” Hermione demanded.

“I’m just making sure you’re aroused enough; the penetration is deeper in this position.”

Hermione knew what she wanted and was still reluctant to tell him. She planted her feet on the floor and lifted her body enough to release the erection which had been sandwiched between them.

“You’re ready to try this?” Draco surmised. She nodded, her teeth holding her bottom lip again.

“I’ll cum too early again if you keep biting your lip like that!” Draco warned.

“It’s just a lip,” Hermione whispered. She could feel his hand slip between them again. His fingers brushed along her fold and then lined the tip of his penis against her entrance.

“Your mouth fascinates me,” Draco groaned, “I keep imagining my cock sliding past those lips and – “

Hermione let gravity drawn her body downwards and allowed him to slip into her. She liked the way he lost the ability to think; it was quite flattering.

“Fuck,” Draco gasped.

“That is the verb of the day,” Hermione replied, rather euphoric in her power over him. When his invasion began to feel uncomfortable she pushed with her legs to lift herself away from him. He attempted to thrust his hips up to remain within her and pleaded into her breasts.

“What happened to that cold, sneering façade you’ve worn for so many years?” Hermione wondered.

“It doesn’t exist during sex,” Draco managed.

“Too bad I didn’t know that earlier,” she mused aloud, “Sixth Year could have been very different.”

Draco clutched at her back and desperately recalled Quidditch statistics to stave off the orgasm brewing within him. He felt her body slide back down and his cock sank into heaven.

Hermione watched the pure pleasure on his face and enjoyed the thrill of control she was experiencing. She had never imagined that riding a man would be so damn satisfying.

She experimented with different movements and found the best one. She was glad she had taken horse-riding lessons a few years earlier.

Draco was pleading, groaning and praising her in disjointed sentences. She teased him back and wondered who was going to lose control first.

Draco knew drastic action needed to be put into effect. He pressed her tightly against his torso and tensed his stomach muscles to heighten the friction between them. He held up his hands palm-out, so they were lightly grazing her nipples.

“You’re gorgeous when you’re riding my cock,” he whispered, “I could stare at your tits bouncing in my face for years. Fuck me, Hermione, I belong to you.”

She was making the right noises; he could feel the tension increasing around his erection.

Hermione listened to the disjointed sentences he was moaning into her chest. She smiled above his head and let any remaining shyness slip away.

Draco felt her body convulse around him. Her nails dug into his shoulders and a shrill cry escaped her lips. She had never looked more beautiful.

Hermione sagged against him as her orgasm washed over her. Any tension which had built up fled through her toes. A lazy smile graced her face.

“And that, my dear, is an orgasm,” Draco said smugly.

“Arrogant git,” she sighed, “At least you’re good in bed.”

His chuckle sent tingles through her body. The spasms which continued to rack her body were quite enjoyable.

“Now we’re going to try a new position,” Draco said decisively, “Kneel on all fours on the bed.”

Usually such a directive would have annoyed her enough to argue. Under the influence of the post-coital haze she was lost in, she simply cooperated. Her legs were wobbly as she dismounted his still-erect penis, so she leaned on him to remain upright.

Draco guided her to the bed and puller her hips up to where he wanted them.

“Lean on the pillow,” he instructed. When she had her face nestled comfortable on a silky pillowcase he guided their bodies back together.

“Slowly,” Hermione instructed sharply.

The penetration was deeper from this angle, so he kept the thrusts gentle until he spotted the smile on her face.

The pace increased gradually, and he watched her hands grip the edges of the pillow. Her moans matched his thrusts perfectly.

“You are hitting the perfect place,” she moaned.

Draco grinned as her words shot straight to his ego. Knowing he was the only man to enjoy her body pleased him on a deep, possessive level he hadn’t been aware of previously.

Her muscles were still convulsing gently from her orgasm. As she tightened around him he felt his own release approaching.

Hermione felt him shift and a strong hand gripped her shoulder. Her mouth opened in astonishment as he used the leverage to pound into her hard. The first second was uncomfortable before the lovely tingling sensation took over.

She could hear the short gasps which preceded his orgasms and experienced a thrill of anticipation. She tightened her Kegel muscles and listened to the string of curse words he shouted in her mind.

He came hard, gasping with each final thrust. He gasped for air; a noise she was sure he didn’t realize he was making. The hand on her shoulder released and trailed up her spine.

“Damn you’re good at that,” Draco groaned as he fell into the bed beside her.

“You’re pretty talented yourself,” Hermione mused.

His arm was still slung over her. He trailed his fingers to run across her shoulders and caress her cheek. Somehow the gesture seemed more intimate than the activities they had been indulging in.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Draco admitted, his expression oddly vulnerable, “I know the whole Veela thing came out of nowhere, and you could have just told me to stick it.”

Was this the shy side he had always hidden with arrogance and insults? It was hard to reconcile the childhood bully with the man who touched her so gently.

“Did I say something wrong?” Draco wondered. There was a trace of panic in his face.

Hermione leaned forward to kiss him gently, “Not at all.”

“You Gryffindor’s are weird,” Draco decided when she pulled back, “You were looking at me like that hippogriff did before it tried to kill me.”

“I was not. I was wondering how you could be such an arse at school, and a sweet guy now. Are you bipolar? And, for the record, that hippogriff had every right to try to kill you for insulting him.”

Draco was smiling at her again, “You think I’m sweet?”

“And an arse.”

“Well that makes sense,” Draco mused, “You think I’m a ‘Sweet Arse’ and I can assure that you have a very sweet arse.”

“Is that a pathetic attempt to be charming?” Hermione snorted.

“Not really. I wanted to compliment your backside without sounding sleazy and the opportunity was too good to pass up.”

“I need to have a shower,” Hermione announced.

Draco was admiring her body again, “Want some company?”


	86. July

Regulus was given a room in the castle, and it suited most of his needs. Habit drove him to seek out Hagrid for company each afternoon. The half-giant wasn’t the brightest of companions, but he understood the need for solitude more than most.

Hagrid’s hut had been destroyed on the same night Dumbledore had died. Regulus recalled getting a newer bed, but his memories as a dog were not the most reliable.

From the outside, the new hut looked the same. The inside, however, was very different. Expansion charms had been employed to extend the space, so Hagrid had a bedroom, kitchen and bathroom; all in his size.

Regulus wondered why Hagrid’s accommodations had not been improved decades ago. Even if the previous Headmaster had been prejudiced, Dumbledore should have done something when he took over.

Hagrid had been anxious the first time Regulus had stopped by for tea. He had fumbled with the kettle and pronounced his name carefully.

Regulus had made a joke about taking a nap in the dog bed, which had helped the half-giant relax.

On the fifth day, their tea and conversation were interrupted by a knock at the door. Hagrid was so startled that he dropped his mug onto the table with a thud. While he mopped up the tea, Regulus answered the door.

Harry Potter blinked in surprise, “Um, hi?”

“Hagrid is sleeping in the dog bed,” Regulus said in a serious voice, “I get to answer the door before I take him for a walk.”

Harry rolled his eyes, “You are more like your brother than you realize.”

“Take that back!” Regulus ordered, as he stepped aside to let the younger wizard in, “Sirius was an arrogant, bullying toe-rag.”

“As a teenager,” Harry agreed, “But to me, he was a cross between an older brother and a friend.”

“I saw his awful qualities far too often to believe otherwise,” Regulus replied, “Come sit down before Hagrid pours the rest of the tea on the table.”

“He should pour them on the rock cakes,” Harry muttered as he entered.

Hagrid was clearly happy to see the Potter heir, though he kept the tea in the cup long enough for the conversation to flow.

Regulus realized that Harry was pouring his heart out to Hagrid without hesitation. Clearly, the boy needed to sort through his traumatic experiences, and the half-giant was the chosen receptacle.

“We all need to talk to someone,” Hagrid assured Harry. Regulus was practised enough, that he could translate Hagrid’s accent into English without effort.

“Reg is ‘ere every day,” he continued.

Harry glanced over at the animagus, who merely lifted his cup of tea in a toast to him.

Another knock at the door surprised Regulus, “You have never been so popular,” he mused to Hagrid.

Neville nodded politely to Mr Black and joined their tea-drinking session. Harry watched with interest as his friend blatantly scrutinised the Animagus. Hagrid appeared oblivious.

“How is Pansy holding up?” Hagrid asked Harry. The day before, the Prophet had reported an attack on the Ministry, and the death of Maxwell Parkinson.

“The usual; snide comments and sarcasm,” Harry replied, “Hermione said she puts on an act until she is around people she trusts. Girls are weird.”

“Who did Max marry?” Regulus asked curiously.

“Posy Runcorn,” Neville answered.

Regulus shook his head, “That one must have been arranged. Max was a year below me, and Posy was two above; they couldn’t stand each other.”

“Did Purebloods always have kids around the same time?” Harry wondered. The cluster of Sacred Twenty-Eight surnames in his year level was interesting, even if he had never been tempted to figure out how many of them he was related to. If there were multiple clusters, a Fertility Curse couldn’t take all the blame.

Neville nodded, “They tried to; especially houses who were allied. If she had survived, I would have been betrothed to Bethany McKinnon the day I turned sixteen.”

“My mother pushed for an engagement between Sirius and Narcissa,” Regulus recalled, “Grandfather had the final say, and vetoed the idea. I remember wanting to ask if he regretted letting my parents get married.”

“Shit,” Harry muttered, “How do I find out if I was betrothed to someone?”  
“Yer mum woulda stopped that,” Hagrid laughed, “She hated the idea.”

“Gran said their marriage was quite the scandal at the time,” Neville added, “Even now, some would whine about it.”

“None of their business,” Hagrid declared, “James loved Lily just as she was. He hated all the poncy pureblood stuff; like Sirius.”

“Sirius enjoyed thumbing his nose at our parents,” Regulus agreed, “Even though he was an arse, I admired his bravery.”

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When Ron wrote to Molly explaining that Daphne had a friend who was stuck wearing a cursed bracelet, she had been intrigued. After losing Fred, and watching George slip into misery, a party and a potential romance was a welcome diversion.

Molly pulled Charlie, Percy and George aside before they had left the Burrow to explain why they were ordered to attend the birthday party for Harry.

“There is a witch who has been cursed by her insane mother; she has to find a Pureblood husband willing to take her name by early November or the cursed bracelet will suck out her magic and render her a Squib.”

George gaped at his mother while Percy paled noticeably. Charlie didn’t seem to be bothered.

“You’re pimping us out?” George demanded. The glare he earned made him visibly wilt.

“More like encouraging an arranged marriage,” Molly clarified, “If none of you are interested, she must go abroad to seek a husband.”

“I’m going to propose to Penny,” Percy said softly, “I have already purchased a ring.”

Molly beamed at him and pulled him in for a rib-cracking hug.

“Congrats Perc,” George said with a snort, “You’ll have to tell Penny she saved you from whatever hag mum is trying to set us up with.”

“George Weasley! Don’t call anyone a hag until you meet her.”

“Then I can call her a hag?”

Charlie chuckled, “Not to her face.”

Molly had her hands on her hips, which wasn’t a good sign, “George; with an attitude like that you’ll be lucky to court anyone!”

Charlie knew better than to antagonise their mother when she was already showing signs of agitation. The ‘hands on her hips’ was a deliberate precursor to ‘yell until their eardrums explode’. He hadn’t heard that one since he had announced he was moving to Romania to tussle with Dragons for a living.

“So, who is the witch?” Charlie asked curiously.

Molly frowned, “Ron didn’t say.”

“I bet ten galleons that she’s a hag,” George muttered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Pansy stood at the edge of the Great Hall next to Daphne wearing an elegant dress in a lovely shade of dark blue. Daphne was wearing silver.

“I don’t think I can wear green anymore,” Daphne mused, “Next to Ron’s hair it looks too much like Christmas.”

Pansy didn’t care if they were both stark naked and riding brooms into the Ministry of Magic. She was too distracted by the thought of having to convince some poor bastard to marry her in a few months.

Weasley approached wearing something respectable for once. Pansy wondered who had dressed him for the occasion.

“Daphne,” he greeted reverently, “You look gorgeous.”

Daphne blushed a little and kissed him on the lips too long to consider it a quick peck. Pansy looked away to prevent her dinner from reappearing.

“You look lovely too, Pansy,” Weasley offered awkwardly.

“Thanks, Ronald,” Pansy said sourly, “I appreciate the effort it takes to lie like that; I know you lot nicknamed me ‘Pug-face’ for a reason.”

Weasley was blushing, and the colour looked awful with his hair, “Well you’re grown up now; and you don’t have that pissed-off expression that made your mouth crinkle up. Ginny wondered if you were always smelling something bad.”

“He’s paraphrasing,” Daphne laughed, “Ginny actually used the term ‘hippogriff shit’.”

“Charming,” Pansy replied sarcastically

“Since when do you refer to me by my first name?” Ron wondered.

Pansy shrugged, “If I refer to you as Weasley, half the party will turn around.”

“When they arrive,” Daphne added, “I want to see these single brothers. I know what Pans likes and I get first bet.”

“Are you betting on my love life when my magic is at stake?” Pansy demanded.

Daphne shrugged, “I’ll split the winnings with you?”

“Deal.”

Pansy returned to her internal debating about how screwed she was. Daphne was leaning into her boyfriend; Pansy was sure the redhead was betting on the Dragon-Trainer.

The whoosh of a Floo arrival was followed by an excited feminine squeal. Pansy watched with mild interested as Potter was attacked by the female of the Weasley clan. The ring on her finger was soon being shown to anyone who was willing to coo over it.

Ron moved forward with Daphne on his arm. Pansy wondered if their children would have blonde or ginger hair.

The fireplace spat out more redheads like they were breeding in there. Hermione sidled up to Pansy and began a running commentary of the people.

“Arthur and Molly just arrived,” Hermione was saying, “The practically adopted Harry years ago but there was still some tension when he and Ginny got engaged.”

“Daphne met them a few weeks ago?” Pansy recalled.

“Yes; they seem to like her. Even if they hated her they would be polite for Ron’s sake.”

Pansy envied him that; if Posy Parkinson disapproved of something the entire world was sure to know very quickly.

“There’s Bill and Fleur; Bill is the eldest brother and Fleur was the Tri-Wizard competitor from Beauxbatons,” Hermione continued.

“He wears the scars well,” Pansy mused.

Hermione nodded, “On others they would look ugly; they add danger to Bill’s appearance. Fleur has made some nauseating comments about how they turn her on.”

“Charlie, Percy and George are just behind Bill and Fleur. Percy is the tall one with the glasses; frankly I think you’d hex him into silence two minutes into an attempted conversation. George was in the year above us, so you know him already.”

“So, the one with the big muscles and short hair is Charles?” Pansy clarified.

Hermione nodded with a knowing smirk, “I have ten galleons on Charlie being a good match for you.”

“If only I breathed fire, it would be a match made in a Dragon reserve,” Pansy replied sarcastically.

Hermione raised one eyebrow at the snarky witch, “I’m not convinced that you don’t.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Charlie wasted no time in approaching Ron, only to be distracted by the beautiful young witch on his arm.

“Little brother; please tell me that this beauty is the lady in need of a husband,” Charlie said with a wink at the blonde.

“I’m Daphne,” she offered her hand, which Charlie kissed like a gentleman.

“My girlfriend,” Ron added, “The witch who needs a husband is a right dragon.”

Daphne jabbed her elbow into his gut while retaining her charming smile, “Be nice Ronald.”

“I like you,” Charlie decided, “If you can keep little Ronnikins in line, all the better. Should I drink some Firewhiskey before meeting this mystery lady?”

“Definitely,” Ron encouraged, “The more the better.”

“Ronald!” Daphne admonished, “Stop talking about her like that! You have no idea what she’s like.”

“I’ve known her for years,” Ron protested feebly.

Daphne had her hands on her hips; Charlie wondered if it was a universal female trait, “I’ve known Hermione as an annoying know-it-all for years, but does that mean I really know her?”

Charlie wanted to laugh at the was Ron wilted under her glare but chose to remain silent to make sure the attention was not diverted to himself. The hands-on-hips pose was eerily reminiscent of their mother.

“No,” Daphne answered her own question, “I believe you when you say Hermione is caring, loyal and a great friend. How about you give me the same respect regarding Pansy?”

Charlie recognised the opportunity to retreat, “I think I’ll go find this mysterious witch,” he said with a respectful bow, “George might find her first and sour her opinion on the entire bloodline.”

Ron was still mumbling an apology as he left.


	87. Birthday Guests

Harry was called up to the front of the hall to make a speech. With typical reluctance, he tried to hide behind Ginny to avoid being the centre of attention. She only laughed at him and pushed him toward her mother.

“I was hoping to avoid this bit,” Harry grumbled. His voice was magically enhanced to project across the room without being obnoxiously loud.

“Honestly, I’m still shocked that I made it to my eighteenth birthday,” Harry mused, “When I walked into the forest to face Voldemort, I had accepted that I was going to die.”

The Hall was silent. Draco resisted the urge to call out something rude about spoiling the party.

“Then I met Dumbledore in that white place between life and death,” Potter continued, “And I had a choice; go on to be with my parents or go back to my friends. I knew most people would be able to grieve and cope without me but the thought of one woman made my decision easy.”

Draco rolled his eyes as Potter gazed adoringly at Weaslette. Over at the table George abandoned a glass and swiped an entire bottle of Firewhiskey.

“For years I had craved a meeting with my parents so badly,” Harry admitted, “And in that moment, I realized there was someone more important waiting the entire time.”

George pretended to choke on his drink and collapse behind the table. Hermione glared in his direction before turning her attention back to her friend.

Draco realized with a silent groan that her eyes had a noticeable sheen to them.

“I love you, Ginny,” Potter said to her directly, “I love your laugh, that frown you get when you don’t like what someone is saying and that calculating look you wear when you are about to outsmart me or one of your brothers. I regret that it took a near-death experience to give me the confidence to tell you how wonderful you are.”

Molly was openly crying and clinging to Arthur, who also appeared rather emotional.

Pansy sidled up to Draco and hissed under her breath, “The Gryffindors have really snapped this time. Let’s run away before they try to rope us into a group hug.”

“I have a better idea,” Draco whispered back, “Let’s throw you at an unsuspecting Weasley brother and get the wedding planning underway.”

“Just try it and you’ll see how evil I can be,” Pansy replied quietly, “Have you ever fancied having your bollocks removed by magic?”

Knowing Pansy’s mother, Draco wasn’t willing to take any risks. If such a spell existed, Posy would know it. He was determined to make Pansy uncomfortable, though.

Charlie watched the blonde conspire with the black-haired witch with as much discretion as he could muster. She was the only female who fitted the short description he had been given in passing by Harry; ‘black hair and always looking down her nose at something’.

She had certainly crafted a cold aura around herself, but it fell easily when she was talking to Draco. As expected, she had the bearing of a pureblood and watched people carefully when she was not being observed directly. Charlie suspected that she only trusted a few people in her life and betrayal was never forgiven.

Ron’s comment that she was a ‘right dragon’ intrigued him. Most people thought dragons were mindless and violent, yet he knew them as fierce, protective and loyal to those who earned their trust. Even the Hungarian Horntail which tried to eat Harry a few years ago would tolerate him around her eggs if he minded his manners; she didn’t like being petted though.

Draco said something to infuriate the witch in question and the snarl on her face was quite intriguing. The passion a potential partner showed in anger led his thoughts straight to the bedroom.

Charlie returned his attention to his future brother-in-law so he wouldn’t be caught staring at Draco and the witch who no-one was willing to name outright. Sadly, having an ‘insane’ mother did not narrow it down; most of the pureblood witches trying to offload a daughter to marriage were rather mental, in his experience.

Harry escaped from the podium as fast as he could; he resumed his favourite hobby of making cow-eyes at the youngest Weasley sibling. Charlie promised himself that if they were still being so nauseating after a couple of years, he was going to buy Harry a leash for Ginny to lead him around.

The Dragon-trainer noticed Draco flee from his dark-haired companion, who glared after him. For a Slytherin, the blonde completely lacked subtlety.

Draco grabbed Charlie’s arm and hissed, “The dragon is chasing me! Get taming, would you?”

Charlie laughed at the sincere fear in the voice of the younger wizard. Clearly Pansy was not a witch to be trifled with. She was not a hag, so George owed him ten galleons.

Pansy froze when Draco stopped to talk to the redhead who had been identified as the Dragon Trainer. Her idiotic childhood friend was directly between herself and the man she needed to impress and could ruin everything! She knew three different ways to ensure Draco could be impotent for a full month, and she was not afraid to test out a fourth.

She watched Charlie regard her thoughtfully before turning his attention back to the blonde. He gripped Draco firmly by the shoulder and used his strength to force him to one side. Had he grabbed Draco by the face and moved him that way she would not have been surprised.

Draco waved at Pansy smugly once Charlie had his back turned. He mimed kissing his fist to embarrass her. Hermione appeared out of the crowd to halt his display; within seconds Draco was back to being completely whipped.

Charlie strolled up to the witch who was observing him with wide eyes. A lifetime of training prompted her to offer her hand when he introduced himself.

“Charlie Weasley,” his voice was deep without being obnoxious.

“Pansy Parkinson,” she replied as he bent forward to kiss her knuckles. She felt the flare of magic around her cloth-covered wrist.

“It’s an odd thing; Miss Parkinson,” Charlie said quietly, “People keep warning me of a dragon and yet all I see if a beautiful witch. Have I been misdirected?”

Pansy smirked at his easy charm, “Not at all. Sadly, I can be a right bitch at times.” If he was intimidated by her candid nature, Posy would eat him alive. She owed him the chance to escape that nightmare before she checked to see how brightly the magic in the bracelet was glowing.

Charlie raised one eyebrow at her blunt words, “I have found the most vicious of dragons to be the ones worth my time.”

“I must warn you; I can never be tamed.”

“No dragon can be tamed, they can only be convinced that I have something worthwhile to offer,” Charlie assured her with an appreciative smile.

“Well, I invite you to try to convince me.”

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“What in Merlin’s name were you doing?” Hermione hissed at Draco, “Pansy is trying to make a good impression!”

“If I act like an arse, they have something to talk about,” Draco offered with a hopeful smile.

Hermione shook her head at his logic, “If she hexes your mouth off, it’s your fault.”

Draco made a noise of disbelief, “Trust me; she would not be aiming for my mouth.”

“Don’t try hiding behind me!” Hermione warned, “Charlie is her only hope within Britain; she’d throw George out the window the first time he pranked her.”

“She tried that with me every few months,” Draco agreed, “Just for talking.”

Hermione tweaked his nose playfully, “I completely understand why.”

Ron was startled by a sudden squeal from Hermione. He turned so fast; he sloshed his drink on Daphne’s shoes.

“Careful, Ronald!” Daphne admonished. She had her wand pointed at the mess within seconds.

“I think Malfoy is dragging Hermione off to his mansion to do something unspeakable,” Ron muttered.

Daphne followed his gaze to see the couple in question gliding across the dance floor with enthusiasm. Draco was always staring at Hermione; she couldn’t see what was new about that.

“He looks like that every day,” Daphne scoffed, “Just accept that if they forget to use a Silencing Charm, you need to be Obliviated.”

Ron bravely ignored the way Malfoy was slobbering over his friend by glancing at Daphne’s cleavage. Daphne messed up his hair while he was transfixed; he was gorgeous when he looked like he had just stepped off a Quidditch pitch.

Daphne was all set; Ron was thoughtful, charming and very sexy. Pansy had nearly gagged at that exact description, so Daphne had wished her luck finding her own Weasley to marry.

Speaking of Pansy, Daphne watched her friend slowly reach out to take the hand of the Dragon-trainer. This was a big moment for the couple; Pansy loved to dance, and she had never found a partner who could stay the distance.

Charlie was enjoying himself, while ignoring the careful eyes of his mother. Molly had spent years dropping hints that she wanted grandchildren, even if she had to travel to Romania to visit them. At the slightest hint, she would start knitting baby clothes.

“My mother mentioned something about a curse?” Charlie said as he guided Pansy across the space which had been cleared for dancing.

“My insane mother decided to send me a cursed bracelet,” Pansy replied easily, “Thankfully, the rest of the bloodline has common sense. I suspect that sharing a dorm room with Bellatrix Black did something awful to her mind.”

“The mere presence of that evil cow would make flowers shrivel up and die,” Charlie agreed.

“I prefer to keep my vindictive cow tendencies on this side of sane,” Pansy said as Charlie spun her in a graceful twirl. She did not notice the multiple sets of eyes who were following her progress; her mind was preoccupied with the bulging muscles under her hands. She was imagining exactly what she wanted those calloused fingers to do.

“I have survived the Prewitt temper for over two decades,” Charlie assured her, “It was good training for cranky nesting dragons who want to rip out my spine.”

“I have heard the Howlers Molly Weasley is capable of,” Pansy laughed, “I am still working on the right pitch to shatter glass.”

Charlie had dated several witches, but settling down had never been an attractive thought. For the first time, he was imagining getting married and having a child or two.

As the song ended, Pansy used Charlie as a shield against the rest of the room so she could discretely check the bracelet.

Charlie admired the luminous piece of jewellery with interest, “Is it always bright enough to light the dungeons?”

Pansy shook her sleeve back over her wrist, “No; it only lit up like a blue sun when I am in contact with a potential husband. Ronald sparked sad little, blue Lumos.”

“I imagine, it would be hard to have a successful relationship with Ronald,” Charlie mused, “Daphne seems rather attached to him.”

“Getting married while the Witch of Honour tries to curse my hair off would be depressing,” Pansy agreed.

Molly had contained her excitement long enough. While Arthur was distracted, she slipped away to check in on Charlie.

“Mother-Alert,” Charlie whispered, “I guarantee she will dislike you; anyone we bring home gets the same treatment.”

“What about Daphne?” Pansy asked quietly. She had also spotted the redhead heading their way.

“We make an exception for anyone who can train Ron to eat with his mouth closed.”

Pansy understood that reasoning; Daphne had even trained Marcus Flint to clean his teeth before he graduated.

Arthur watched his wife head toward the couple with an amused smile. She thought she was being so clever by pretending to disapprove of any girl one of their sons brought home. Arthur recognised the strategy as the same his own mother had used; give the couple a common enemy to bond over. After years of shoving Charlie toward any willing witch, Molly was willing to play the game to get him a wife.

Charlie nearly bought the charade, until he noticed the smile on his fathers’ face.

Pansy recognised Molly Weasley’s disapproval quite quickly, before dismissing it. Compared to Posy Parkinson, Charlie’s mother was downright friendly.

“I think she likes me,” Pansy mused once Molly had returned to her husband.


	88. Theo

Theodore Nott was quite content to be underestimated by those around him. He had decided that he could only trust himself at a very young age and had never wavered in that belief.

He had spent years refining his ability to blend into a crowd and remain inconspicuous. He had plain features, which was a distinct advantage when someone as recognisable as Draco was in the vicinity. He wasn’t ugly, nor was he strikingly attractive; and that suited him perfectly.

Tracy had described him as cute in a way which wouldn’t offend the most narcissistic of pureblood wives. Even Pansy had pointed out that if he wanted a trophy wife his dark hair would contrast perfectly with a blonde. She had been winking at Daphne as she spoke.

Pansy had never been particularly subtle.

Theo had never been a social person, even while his mother had been alive. After she died when he was seven he had withdrawn from his grieving father as the older man turned to alcohol and violence. By the time Theo was nine he was sleeping outside on Saturday nights to avoid Death Eater revels in the mansion. Escaping to the Malfoy family had been a delight, just to avoid the sound of Muggles screaming.

Theo also knew that Lucius and Thadius Nott were long-time associates; the polite term for Death Eater comrades from the First Wizarding War. He couldn’t seek help from the Malfoy family as his father would find out before the day ended.

In the end, it had been Severus Snape who had provided him with an escape route. While Thadius Nott was wearing a mask and terrorising people at the World Cup, Theo had been moved to a secure location under the Fidelius Charm. Professor Snape had remained the Secret-Keeper until his death and never disclosed the location to anyone. Theo had huddled at home with his personal elf in terror after Voldemort had returned, but he had never been disturbed.

Hinny, the House Elf, had always been his companion as far as he could remember. She had comforted him after his mother died and come to his rescue countless times when Thadius was on a rampage. The one time he had been trapped in a Death Eater Revel Hinny had appeared, grabbed his hand and saved him from having to torture a helpless girl. Theo had never forgotten the terror in the eyes of the intended victim.

As Hinny had come to him from his mother’s family, Nott Sr had no sway over the creature. Only after he was safe in his new home did Severus reveal that Theo’s mother, Marietta Prince, had been his first cousin. Theo had been betrayed by his father and saved by his mother’s family. Though Eileen Snape, nee Prince, had been cast out for marrying a muggle, some bonds ran deeper than acceptance in high society.

Theo had returned to Hogwarts under Hinny’s careful supervision. Snape made sure the Carrow twins refrained from targeting him, and never left him alone with Thadius Nott when he came to visit.

Thadius had demanded Theo be taken to Voldemort to be marked as a Death Eater. Snape had pointed out that only _willing_ servants of the Dark Lord took the mark and survived. The older Nott had finally accepted that his son was a disgrace to the name and declared he would seek out a new wife to bear him another son to replace Theo as his heir. Theo didn’t give a shit, so long as the old bastard left him alone.

A week later Severus was dead, and the war was over. Thadius Nott was on the run and no doubt very, very upset.

_During the Battle of Hogwarts, Theo had chosen to leave with the last group of younger students when they had been evacuated to Hogsmeade. The idea of taking up a wand against the Death Eaters had been appealing, but the risk of harming Draco had been too high. Had he known that Draco wasn’t masked he would have stayed in hope of making himself an orphan._

_Blaise had expressed the opposite reason for not participating in the battle; he had admired too many Death Eaters as default father figures to risk killing any._

_The group, comprised mainly of Gryffindors, had watched as he and Blaise had organised the sixth and seventh year Slytherin students into a protective wall to shield them._

_Many late-night discussions had been devoted to the situation. If Voldemort had won, Theo was prepared to take the Dark Mark and marry Tracy on the spot. As a half-blood and a Slytherin she was at risk of being handed over to some old codger as a sex-slave within the bonds of marriage. If Fate were truly cruel, she could have ended up as his stepmother. They had remained friends after their breakup to the prospect of marrying her wasn’t too daunting._

_Though Crabbe and Goyle had been left out of the discussion, Theo knew that one or both would offer Millie the same protection. Blaise planner to offer for the Weasley girl if she survived; too many Death Eaters would enjoy being her husband just to make her wish she was dead._

_Pansy, Daphne and Astoria all feared that they would be shackled to cruel, old Death Eaters in need of heirs. All three planned to offer to marry a Weasley and hope that Voldemort liked the idea of using the blood-traitor family to continue the Parkinson and Greengrass lines._

_Theo knew that Pansy had thwarted the Burke heir in Third Year and hope that he had already been killed. If he decided to make a claim on Pansy, he would surely punish her for losing her virginity just to avoid him._

_Draco had declared that there was someone on the light side who would be given to him if she survived. Theo had his suspicions about who the blonde was referring to and chose to keep them to himself._

_Astoria was in Fifth Year and resembled her sister enough to pass as her twin. They both wore grim expressions and checked the youngest children for injuries while offering soothing words. Pansy had taken an extra step in hope of protecting their charges._

_“You’re all Purebloods,” she stated to the terrified children, “If any Death Eater asks, reply confidently and don’t look them in the eyes. Got that?”_

_Most of them nodded fearfully. A few lower lips began to tremble._

_Theo knew that there were no Muggle-borns among them to worry about so his concerns were based around the half-blood Gryffindors who had been denied their wish to participate in the battle. If any tried to do something stupidly brave the whole group was in trouble._

_Wary eyes watched the eldest Slytherins in action. The_ Cruciatus _curse thrown during the year had been faked after training with Draco in September, but enough damage had been done early on to isolate those forced to inflict the pain._

_Crabbe and Goyle were the only students not faking the curse; Draco had deemed them too loyal to be included in the conspiracy. Theo suspected the pair were also too stupid to fake it convincingly._

_“Heads down when they arrive,” Blaise bellowed, “If Potter loses we’re all in deep shit together.”_

_“Yeah right,” a Fourth Year Gryffindor scoffed, “He-who-must-not-be-named won’t kill you Purebloods; he’ll recruit you.”_

_“Same shit, different smell,” Theo replied crudely, “If I wanted him to win I’d be out there in a Halloween costume. Now shut your noise-hole so you don’t endanger the other kid’s arounds you.”_

_Tracy squeezed his arm for a moment before returning her attention to the doorway._

_The appearance of two cloaked and masked figures sent a cry of fear through the huddle of children. The Slytherins held the line while the Death Eaters approached._

_“These children are under our protection!” Blaise yelled above the noise._

_The two masks were pulled away to reveal Lucius and Draco Malfoy._

_“Ease up, Blaise,” Draco ordered tiredly, “Potter won. We are here at the order of Aurors.”_

_“What’s with the cloaks then?” Theo challenged._

_“Just in case other Death Eaters beat us here,” Draco replied with a smirk, “Burke didn’t need them anymore.”_

_“All clear!” Lucius yelled to someone unseen._

_Within minutes the Gryffindors were crying with relief and being ushered back to the castle to reunite with parents or be flooed home._

_Theo watched with dismay as Draco and Lucius were both cuffed._

_“Don’t worry Theo,” Draco assured his friend, “We agreed to help knowing we would be arrested afterwards.”_

_Theo had never felt so helpless. He returned to the castle to comfort Mrs Malfoy and accepted her invitation to stay with her at the Manor._

_The next day Aurors had come to tell him that his father had escaped, and he would have to be put into protective custody. He suspected Lucius had informed them that Thadius Nott would be out for blood and his son would be the primary target._

_‘Protective custody’ turned out to be a good excuse to interrogate him about his father. The first time one of the Aurors had made a comment about Theo wanting to protect his father, he had laughed so hard he had fallen off the lounge._

_“Thadius Nott is a murdering rapist who deserves to rot in Azkaban for a thousand years!” he finally declared to the stunned men, “Protect him? Dear Merlin, I have never killed anyone but if I was capable that piece of shit would be a stain on the floor!”_

_The stunned silence which had followed had been a welcome change._

Theo found himself in a situation far more daunting; he was trapped in a group of Gryffindors celebrating a party. The subtle hints and double-meaning comments of Slytherin gatherings had been abandoned in favour of loud cheers and hugs.

If anyone tried to hug Theo, he would hex them.

He watched Blaise glide forward to be properly introduced to Astoria Greengrass, under the supervision of her Father. Theo thought the whole thing was stupid; they had been in the same House for years. Just because Astoria had turned sixteen didn’t mean everyone had forgotten her.

Theo didn’t notice the pretty blonde girl studying him through curious eyes. If he had, he would have tried to hide.

Instead, Theo was jolted back to reality when Luna Lovegood appeared in front of him wearing a smile and a necklace made of corks.

“Can I help you?” Theo asked bluntly.

Luna tilted her head to the side and seemed to focus on a spot behind him, “I don’t think so; but you need my help.”

“Really?” He didn’t bother to hide the sneer in his tone.

Luna was unperturbed, “Astoria is about to realize how boring Blaise is and turn her attention to you. Would you like to go for a walk with me instead?”

Theo had known Astoria as Daphne’s annoying little sister for far too long to consider her a potential wife. He knew how stubborn the Greengrass woman could be; the prospect of either one setting their sights on him was disturbing.

Theo held out his arm to the strange blonde, “Where would you like to walk?”

“On the ground is preferable,” Luna remarked, “I always admired how spiders could walk up walls, but I could never get the hang of it. My mum thought I was so funny when I tried it.”

Theo found her strangely enthralling. He had been surrounded by sophisticated pureblood women for so long he could predict their words before they were uttered. For the first time since Tracey had caught his interest, he found he had no idea what his female companion was going to say.

Astoria politely excused herself from the conversation with Blaise and hid her boredom. She scanned the hall just in time to see her back-up plan leave the room with Luna Lovegood.

Ernie McMillan couldn’t believe his luck; Astoria Greengrass was looking lost. As a gentleman, what could he do but offer his assistance?


	89. Everyone loves a Party

George watched with mild interest as Charlie coaxed an actual smile out of Pug-Face Parkinson. Admittedly, she was attractive these days, if she wasn’t speaking, but it was still an impressive feat.

George wished he had the motivation to cut in and request a dance with Charlie to entertain the party. Instead, he sat back and watched the rest of the family smile and socialise.

When Molly was distracted, George edged toward exit. Within seconds, he was out the front door of the Great Hall.

George was incredibly relieved when he left the party behind with only a bottle of Firewhiskey to keep him company. Pretending to be happy while hiding the depths of his misery was exhausting.

Alcohol dulled the pain for a while, but it was never enough to lift the black cloud that he lived under since Fred’s death.

George knew where he was heading, even if he did not admit it to himself. He hated Hogwarts. The castle held nothing but painful memories and triggers for crippling grief.

Fred’s headstone looked like all the others; none of his vibrant personality was immortalised in the plain, white marble. Fury surged within the tipsy redhead.

“How could you leave me?!” he yelled at the headstone, “Live together or die together! Now I’m stuck here without you because dying would rip mums’ heart out!”

The bottle of Firewhiskey smashed against the stone. Fred’s name was coated in the amber liquid in a pale imitation of blood.

“That was a bit dramatic,” an amused voice behind him said.

George spun around to face the pale, spectral form of his twin.

“No!” George spat, “You’re not allowed to rot here!”

The horror of realizing he would not be reunited with his twin in death was too much for George. He passed out on top of the grave he had been yelling at.

Fred rolled his eyes. George had always been the emotional one.

When George woke up he realised that he was lying on a bed. A wet tongue lathered his shin.

“Bog off, Fang,” George groaned at the dog.

“He’s annoyed that you’re in Hagrid’s bed,” Fred said from the closest chair. He didn’t mention that the dog who had just licked him had also transformed into his human self to carry the unconscious twin to shelter; George had bigger issues to deal with.

“You shouldn’t be stuck here,” George said, the grief threatening to engulf his again.

“I’m not a ghost,” Fred assured him.

“What are you then?” George challenged as he sat up, “A bloody Halloween decoration?”

“Settle down, Gred,” Fred instructed, “You see, our souls are so closely intertwined that I can’t move on without you. I can leave Hogwarts as long as I’m with you.”

George frowned at his twin, and silently regretted the alcohol he had consumed earlier, “Why didn’t you show up earlier? I thought I saw you when I ended up in the gutter.”

Fred rolled his eyes, “You were hallucinating. I’ve been waiting here for you to show up and get me. You took your bloody time too.”

“Sorry,” George muttered.

Fred waved a translucent hand dismissively, “Forgiven. I really want to try out something though; ghosts can possess a human for a few seconds, but it is exhausting and they need to rest for hours afterwards. We’re different; with your cooperation, we can coexist indefinitely.”

George gaped at his twin, “We can live in the same body?”

Fred grinned, “Yep. Angelina will be thrilled, eh?”

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Regulus watched the Weasley twins leave Hagrid’s hut together. Fred knew of his identity, but George had been left uninformed.

Regulus had been invited to the party, but he had preferred to keep his return quiet until Bellatrix was back in the ground. Severus returning from the dead had sent the Daily Prophet into a frenzy; he did not want to know what they would make of his return.

Hagrid had given him an open invitation to return to his hut whenever he pleased; the half-giant even admitted to feeling lonely without Fang snoring in the corner.

The castle ghosts kept him informed on any activities within the building, and the castle herself whispered her awareness in the breeze.

The return of Bellatrix was unnatural, and the magic which saturated the area was not pleased. Regulus was sure that if he could draw his insane cousin onto the grounds, the castle would fight half the battle for him.

Regulus had shared his plans with Neville; the young wizard had no qualms about plotting the death of Bellatrix and had been happy to sneak Ollivander in to sell him a wand. The Longbottom heir knew that Regulus would keep him updated and include him if he needed help.

Regulus had never been close to anyone, though Bellatrix had cultivated his acquaintance with an eye on his future status. He had a few ideas on where she may have hidden a Horcrux, and he intended to check them all.

His first destination, though, was the Hog’s Head.

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Theo had been relieved to leave the party, and apprehensive about being alone with Luna Lovegood. She had a rather strange reputation, even among the Slytherins. A rumour had gone around that all four of the most famous Seers of the last millennium appeared in Luna Lovegood’s ancestry. Theo had always been sceptical, until he spent half an hour in her company.

“The Black Dog embarks on his journey, not realizing how close the threat really is,” Luna mused as she stared out at the dark grounds, “The future of their house will lie with the winner.”

Theo knew she was speaking of Regulus Black and Bellatrix Lestrange, even if he couldn’t see anything moving within his field of vision.

“Theo, do you believe in fate?”

Tracey had been an interesting social companion, yet her bearing and attitude still echoed the etiquette taught to Pureblood women. The blonde who peered up at him innocently was unpredictable, and oddly fascinating.

“I’m not sure.”

“I think Fate has a few fixed points in our lives, and we fill in the gaps,” Luna said sagely, “Tonight is one of those points.”

“What makes you believe that?” Theo wondered.

“Pansy and Charlie make a good couple; but Ernie and Astoria will start a family first. Blaise is being pretty dense; Padma won’t wait forever,” Luna mused, “Though Fate may not care about that.”

“Slytherins and Gryffindors dating is pretty strange,” Theo agreed.

“What about a Slytherin and a Ravenclaw?” Luna asked, “I’ve been dreaming about a Slytherin for weeks, but I’m not sure how to approach him.”

“It depends on the Slytherin,” Theo replied quietly, “Just be yourself, I guess.”

Theo was sure she was talking about someone else in his House and was surprised by the twinge of disappointment which accompanied the realization.

“Be myself,” Luna repeated, “Good advice.”

Theo did not have time to protest; he had his hands full of Luna Lovegood. The kiss was tentative and short. He could feel a blush creeping up his neck.

“I like you, Theo,” Luna continued, “You deserve to know that.”

With an innocent smile, she skipped back toward the party. He followed her in a pleasant daze.

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Draco was enjoying himself, while surrounded by Gryffindorks. Had he not been a witness to the event, he would not have believed it.

Daphne was still on the dancefloor, trying to direct her boyfriend in a simple waltz. Hermione kept shoving her elbow into Draco’s side when he snickered at the display.

“Come on,” Draco complained, “It’s like watching toddlers wrestling; he’s hopeless. If she wasn’t in love with him, she would have given up when he tripped over his own feet two dances ago.”

“Love?” Hermione repeated, “Already?”

Draco shrugged, “They fit together. She has the sense when he acts like an idiot. He can make her relax when she gets wound up and cranky. I bet they’ll be engaged before they graduate.”

Hermione snorted at him, “You could have been describing us.”

“Well, if you’re going to propose, keep my mother far from the planning,” Draco advised, “She’d hire a marching band, fireworks and who-knows what else.”

“It’s quite common for couples to commit without getting married,” Hermione countered, “Would living in sin keep the magic alive?”

Draco groaned, “Only if you want mother coming over every day to nag us into matrimony.”

“I’ll hide behind Molly.”

“As if; she’d be on the ‘make an honest Veela out of him’ bandwagon too.”

Hermione pretended to shudder at the thought, “We could stay engaged for a decade?”

“Mother would plan a wedding every year and try to trick us into showing up.”

“Then, we flee the country.”

“Works for me.”

“You two are nuts,” Ginny decided aloud, having eavesdropped shamelessly, “Mum and Narcissa would hunt you down and drag you down the aisle.”

Draco turned to the redhead with a haughty expression, “Are you still here, Weaslette? I thought you’d be spawning a new generation of Potters by now?”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “As if you’d notice. You nose is so far up Hermione’s -”

“Gin!” Hermione admonished.

“I’ve never heard it called that before,” Ginny finished tartly.

“What’s wrong with you, Red?” Draco challenged, “Does Potter need another talking to? Has he forgotten what goes where? And what doesn’t?”

Hermione tried not to laugh and ended up in a coughing fit.

“Don’t worry; Harry is a very fast learner,” Ginny assured Draco, even as he patted Hermione’s back, “There’s something to be said about a former Parsel _tongue_.”

The revulsion on the face of the Veela made Ginny laugh out loud. She decided to take pity on him and change the subject before he threw up.

“Have you noticed the other odd couple in the room?”

Draco didn’t even look up, “Ron is odd enough on his own.”

Ginny made a dismissive noise, “Not him; Theo and Luna.”

Draco scanned the hall until he spotted his friend standing stiffly next to a smiling Luna Lovegood.

“Is she introducing him to her father?” Hermione asked. She had not even noticed Xenophilius Lovegood arrived. Even more disturbing; he had brought a date.

“Is that Trelawney?” Draco asked in an aghast tone.

Hermione giggled, “They make a good couple; they both live in a dream world.”

“I hope Trelawney is too old to have children,” Ginny muttered.

A giddy bellow from the corridor silenced the party for a brief second. George raced into the hall, wearing a huge grin. Ginny was relieved that losing Fred had not silenced his care-free spirit completely.

Severus Snape had made a quiet entrance and allowed Andromeda to carry the conversation with various guests. When the redhead careened into the hall like an insane banshee, years of teaching experience kicked in.

“Mr Weasley! Stop this racket right now!”

Andromeda smiled indulgently at his gruff demeanour; she knew he was actually very sweet when he allowed himself to trust.

“Snapey!” George cried happily.

Severus froze in horror when the drunk redhead threw himself toward and _hugged_ the Potion’s Master. Only the twitch at the side of the frowning mouth belied how close George was to being chopped into tiny pieces and stuffed into jars.

“I’m not George!” the redhead cried, as he released the man, “I’m Fred! I had to reveal myself to George first, but the castle kept me updated. The portraits are making bets on when you and Andromeda will get married and start having babies.”

“Never touch me again,” Severus hissed. He brushed off his sleeves as though invisible Weasley-cooties were clinging to him.

Ron was the first to recover from the shock of seeing anyone hug Snape, “Um, George? How much have you had to drink?”

With a happy laugh, the Weasley identified as George stepped to one side: leaving behind an identical copy in the spectral form of a ghost.

“Hi everyone!” Fred greeted, “Sorry, Professor. I was a bit excited about being in a living body again. I know that you would kill me if you could.”

“I’m considering an exorcism,” Severus spat.

Molly rushed forward; her words obliterated by her choking sobs. Fred slipped back into the body of his twin so he could return his mothers’ hug.


	90. Gate crashers

Draco dodged the growing crowd of hugging Gryffindors with admirable skill; he had never been so grateful for all those sessions of Quidditch practise.

Pansy relinquished her dance partner without hesitation to avoid a similar fate. Getting close to Charlie was one thing; risking being smothered by a raging hoard of redheads was another. She watched Draco escape with an amused smile. By the time he reached her, he was panting.

“You’re a bitch!” Draco gasped, “You could have hexed a few out of the way for me!”

Pansy waved one hand dismissively, “And risk my pending marriage to save your albino hide? Pfft.”

Draco staggered toward the buffet table for a drink, “You are a heartless cow,” he decided.

Pansy rolled her eyes, “Everybody knows that.”

“Would they notice if we ran away to hide?” Draco wondered aloud.

Pansy shrugged, “Once the hysterical crying dries up; maybe.”

“A certain dragon-trainer would notice you missing,” Draco teased, “He will either come looking for you, or thank his lucky stars. I’m honestly not sure which way he will go.”

“Take your skanky, Veela nose out of my face,” Pansy replied tartly. Draco could tell she wasn’t angry; her voice went very cold and void of emotion when she was truly pissed off.

“So, the seduction is going well? He is still in the room, so that’s a plus.”

“I’m not trying to seduce him,” Pansy pointed out, “I’m looking for a husband, not a fling.”

“If you can grow scales and breathe fire, he’ll never try to get away,” Draco joked, “I bet your Animagus form would be something scaly.”

“And yours would be a ferret,” Pansy replied in a falsely sweet voice, “I remember those front teeth before your parents used magic to shrink them. Too bad the beady little eyes were there to stay.”

Draco was too accustomed to her barbs to take offence, “If you’re really lucky, he’ll find your attempts to nag him into submission him rather cute.”

“Well, it worked for Granger; though it may have been the dopey expression you wear whenever she looks at you. If her parents had bought her a puppy, you’d be completely out of luck.”

“By that reasoning, Charles should declare his undying love for you if you burn him with your breath and bite him. I know it’s less violent than your usual mating dance but castrating him verbally should wait until after the ceremony.”

Pansy replied, but Draco wasn’t listening. His attention switched to the low, uttered incantation which he had last heard from Vincent Crabbe.

Fred was not worried; the castle had alerted him to the presence of Bellatrix and her motley group of Death Eaters. He used George’s body to point upwards.

“Get her!” he yelled, “Don’t let any of them escape!”

Bellatrix felt the magic surge within her as the Fiendfyre spell formed. She did not see the gathering of ghosts which descended on her before she could direct the fire.

Bellatrix screamed her anger, only to be tackled by a large, feathery creature who answered her war cry with one of his own.

Hermione only needed a fraction of a second to slip back into war-more, and she was not the only one.

By the time Bellatrix escaped from the clutches of the feathery beast her nephew had transformed into, she and her followers were facing a group of very pissed-off wizards and witches.

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Pansy’s first instinct was to run and hide. The imagined image of a Death Eater landing the Killing Curse on one of her friends stopped her. Had she been surrounded by Slytherins, they would all flee together and leave the idiotic Gryffindors to die in a blaze of glory. Instead, she reached the shocking conclusion that at least a couple of those Gryffindors were almost, dare she admit it, friends.

Pansy took cover behind one of the tables and aimed for the nearest cloaked moron, while imagining her mother was behind the stupid mask.

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Theo was furious, and frozen in place. The Death Eater who had petrified him dragged him into an alcove instead of killing him outright.

Thadius Nott threw back his hood and removed his mask. The angry eyes of his son and only heir glared up at him.

“You were always a disappointment,” Thadius sneered, “But this is a new low. Why were you protecting a little blonde twit, rather than watching your own back?”

Theo composed a very vehement reply in his head, even though he couldn’t speak a work.

“Never mind,” Thadius sighed, “Posy has proven herself to be fertile. The House of Nott doesn’t need you anymore. Good-bye.”

Theo was sickened by the mixture of fear and fury in his gut. He waited for death at the hands of his own father.

“ _Stupefy_!” Luna cried.

Theo watched in amazement as his father toppled over, his wand clattering to the ground. Luna smiled at him calmly and cancelled the spell holding him in place.

“I love you, Luna!” Theo cried happily, “Marry me!”

Luna beamed at him, “Of course; but ask me again after I graduate; I promised Daddy I wouldn’t commit to a wizard until then.”

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Charlie paused in the middle of the fight to take in an awesome sight. Pansy ducked behind a toppled table in between firing blasting curses at Death Eaters. Her hair was crackling with energy and she laughed whenever she made her enemy cry out or topple into unconsciousness.

Charlie had never seen a witch look so damn attractive.

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Ginny finally had her wish; Harry was in danger and she was there to shield his back. The anger at being left behind while he left to hunt horcruxes lost some of its potency. For the first time, she was sure Harry trusted her completely.

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The battle spilled outside within minutes. Regulus picked off the occasional Death Eater, but his main target was Bellatrix. Each time she aimed her wand to kill, he threw a spell to throw off her aim. He could see her getting supremely pissed off, and it was rather amusing.

One-by-one, the Death Eaters fell under the wands of the party guests. Regulus transformed into his animagus form and ran toward his target. Once Bellatrix saw the battle was lost, she would flee and pick another battle in the future.

Regulus saw his cousin reach into her pocket. He pounced on her with the focus of a predator closing in for the kill. She instinctively grabbed him with her spare hand.

They disappeared together.

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Severus Snape saw the two Black cousins collide a moment before they disappeared. He had no chance to try to interfere; by the time his mind comprehended what he was seeing, they were gone.

Andromeda had been hit with a curse early in the fight. Severus had managed to counter it before the damage became permanent. Molly and Arthur had swooped in to protect her while she recovered, and Severus drew the attackers away.

His status as a traitor to the Death Eaters placed a huge target on his head. In typical detached fashion, Severus was more comfortable being hated than hiding his true loyalties.

As he was free from the tangled politics of the followers of Riddle, Severus did not have to downplay his duelling ability or enjoyment of inflicting pain on those who deserved it. Five cloaked figures were sprawled across the lawn, each incapacitated or dead. Severus wasn’t sure which, and he honestly did not care.

Rookwood threw a curse designed to burn from the inside out; Severus dodged most of it; he would have to buy a new formal robe. Just for that, he would make sure the other wizards tiny penis became common knowledge in any trial or obituary.

Severus was almost entertained by the stream of profanities which spewed forth from his opponents. They wasted so much energy on expressing that hate, that they made mistakes. Rookwood was curled up in the foetal position in less than a minute after implying that Eileen Snape was a low-price prostitute born to parents who were siblings.

He sudden silence was oddly soothing. Severus cast a spell to search for signs of life. One of his opponents was unconscious, and the rest were dead.

“I’m losing my touch,” Severus muttered, “Ten years ago, they’d all be dead.”

Severus cast one last spell to make sure the still-living Death Eater would stay unconscious for many hours to come before turning to return to the castle with a sweep of his black robes. The hole still bothered him.

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As the sounds of battle faded, Harry scanned the hall for his friends. Ginny was pressed against his back, hugging him fiercely.

Snape swept into the hall wearing a thunderous expression.

“Where is Andromeda?” he asked loudly.

“Dromeda took an early hit,” Molly was saying, “She got back into the fight, but Poppy insisted on checking her out in the Infirmary. There are a few injuries, but nothing life-threatening.”

Harry checked on Ron, who had a gash on his head. He didn’t seem to mind; he was cuddled up to Daphne’s chest and looked rather content.

Hermione was dragging Draco toward the infirmary when Harry and Ginny caught up to her.

“I’m fine!” the blonde insisted.

“You took a blast from that crazy bitch, while covered in feathers,” Hermione snapped, “Poppy is going to look you over, or I’m dragging you to St Mungo’s.”

“Hey, great work Big-Bird,” Harry teased, “The feathers make a great costume for Halloween.”

“Glad you made it, Potter,” Draco grunted, “Red would be unbearable without you to boss around.”

Ginny snorted, “We’re glad you survived too, Malfoy. Hermione has always wanted a pet for Crookshanks to play with while she’s studying.”

“Crookshanks likes him,” Hermione assured Ginny as they reached their destination.

“The ultimate approval,” Ginny replied seriously, “Are you sure he’s not trying to kill the biggest bird he’s ever seen?”

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Lucius didn’t realize how strange he looked to people who had known him before he lost his memories. Teddy was sleeping in his arms; his hair was tied back haphazardly, and his pyjama bottoms could be seen peeking out below the dark blue robe he had hastily donned when the House Elves raised the alarm.

Severus had returned from the Infirmary, with Andromeda in tow. Lucius liked his sister-in-law, as she had a sharp wit and was happy to judge him for who he had become without his memories.

He wasn’t at all impressed by the Aurors; they were rude to him personally and were openly sceptical of the tale told by Severus Snape. He was not surprised to learn that Andromeda’s daughter had often been frustrated with procedures during her employment as an Auror.

“Hello Kingsley!” Fred greeted happily. The dark-skinned man appeared startled by the appearance of the ghost but regained his composure quickly.

“Mr Weasley; I did not realise you were now a resident of Hogwarts.”

“I’m not; I go where George goes. I’m a different type of ghost, so I will age as George does. Tonight was fun; I kept jumping in front of Death Eaters and screaming gibberish to distract them. Severus didn’t need me; he took out five single-handedly.”

The other Aurors were clearly sceptical, “You’re sure Snape killed Death Eaters?”

“Five; and Rookwood was the only one who gave him a challenge,” Fred confirmed.

“Did you see Regulus during the skirmish?” Kingsley asked seriously.

“I didn’t have to,” Fred replied easily, “Hogwarts herself was monitoring him, and kept me updated. He stayed high, and made sure Bellatrix kept missing with some very well-timed stinging hexes. When he saw her reaching for a portkey, he jumped on her to go along for the ride.”

“Regulus Black may have joined forces with Bellatrix Lestrange, if she has truly been resurrected,” one of them said to Kingsley.

“You are an idiot,” Severus declared before the man called Kingsley could reply, “Does the Auror hiring policy require all employees be brain-dead, because that could explain quite a lot.”

The discussion went downhill from there.


	91. Hallows and Horcruxes

Luna plucked the wand out of the hand of Thadius Nott while Theo beamed at her. While she was examining it, he gave his sire a sharp kick in the side.

“He killed my mother,” Theo explained, when Luna raised one eyebrow at him.

“This wand feels strange,” Luna mused, “It’s mine now.”

“That’s not his wand,” Theo realized, “That’s the one Harry took off the dark Bastard.”

Theo searched through his father’s pockets until he fished out the wand which he recognised. Luna tucked the Elder Wand into the wand holster attached to her left hand; Daddy had insisted she start carrying a second one, but she hadn’t been to purchase it yet.

“I’m not sure about this wand,” Luna confided, “I might put it in my vault and forget about it.”

“Or use it on some Death Eaters?” Theo suggested, “We need to see how our friends are faring.”

Luna nodded, and caught his hand in her own, “It is nice having friends.”

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Hermione nearly forgot about the small stone she had scooped up off the floor and put in her pocket after the skirmish. The magic aura on the rock had piqued her interest; she suspected the missing Resurrection Stone had used its innate power to make sure it was found.

Hermione planned to offer to lend the stone to Professor Snape; he deserved the opportunity to say goodbye to Lily Evans. Personally, Hermione thought she was a cow for abandoning her friend and shacking up with a long-term bully.

Technically, Draco had been a bully too, she realized. At least she could deny abandoning her friends.

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The doors of the Great Hall were thrown open by the power of Elf magic. Kreature was old, but he was still able to make sure his beloved Master had the entrance he had earned.

Severus brushed aside the Aurors who were making feeble attempts to interrogate him and was striding toward his friend while the rest of the gathered survivors were still struggling to comprehend the scene.

Bellatrix Lestrange floated behind Kreatcher; unconscious and securely bound.

“Reg! Are you hurt?” Severus demanded.

Regulus smiled faintly at his friend, then staggered sideways into the doorframe to support himself.

“I’m supposed to be a triumphant hero,” Regulus complained, “But the bitch went for the kneecap.”

“Is she dead?” Severus asked, his eyes flicking to Bellatrix.

“Unconscious,” Regulus revealed, “The Ministry can have her. You and I need to attend to something with a jar of Basilisk venom, or the sword of Gryffindor.”

Severus nodded, “I will - ”

“Master needs treatment,” Kreature interrupted fiercely. Within seconds, the Elf conjured a chair, which scooped the injured wizard up easily. Severus smirked at the way the Elf treated his Master.

“Bossy Elf,” Regulus muttered.

“Kreature lives to serve,” the Elf replied, with a clear hint of derision in his voice.

No-one stopped Kreature from leading his charge up to the infirmary. He could be heard muttering about ‘stubborn, idiotic wizards and their stupid charms to keep themselves hidden in flea-infested bodies for years’ and other colourful descriptions until he was out of sight. The only interruption came from Regulus, who barked out a laugh near the stairway.

Bellatrix was left for the Aurors to deal with.

Lucius Malfoy was wearing a confused expression, “Why did he find my slippers so amusing?”

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Daphne and Ron kept giggling together. The sight of Lucius Malfoy playing peek-a-boo with Teddy was endlessly amusing, and the older wizard was completely unaware of the entertainment he was providing.

Teddy was sporting shoulder-length blonde hair and blue eyes, while he tried to chew on the edge of a dark blue robe.

“You look like a little Draco,” Lucius mused, “Don’t let Aunty Narcissa see you; she will start going on about grandchildren.”

Linna remained invisible in the Great Hall. She kept an eye on Teddy and Master Malfoy; Mistress Narcissa wanted to make sure the former was well cared-for, and the later did not regain any nasty memories.

Youngest Mister Weasley and Miss Greengrass were annoying; Linna never understood why human mating rituals took so long.

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It was nearly midnight when Draco, Andromeda, Narcissa and Regulus stood around a small table in the Room of Requirement.

Severus and Hermione kept a polite distance from the family gathering.

“The House of Black condemns the abomination created by Bellatrix Lestrange,” Regulus intoned formally, “She is hereby exiled from the Black Family, and papers have been submitted to the Ministry to declare her no kin of ours.”

He dropped the small item into the jar, where it screamed and bubbled for a few long seconds.

“What was it?” Hermione whispered to Severus.

“The Head Boy badge of Tom Riddle.”

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The Daily Prophet couldn’t spew enough accolades over the next month. Regulus was inundated with marriage proposals and other obnoxious letters.

“This is worse than anything I received,” Severus declared. He turned the envelope upside-down and a pair of lacy knickers fell out. “I am never helping you open your mail again.”

“This is interesting,” Andromeda mused. She was studying a photograph with an amused expression.

Narcissa leaned over to see, “Why do they bother sending naked pictures? Do they think they can turn him gay by mail?”

Regulus shook his head, “Burn that one.”

Andromeda smiled evilly, “I’m going to save it for Hermione’s hens night.”

“Good idea,” Narcissa agreed, “I think Draco knows him.”

Regulus and Severus shared a glance of mutual horror. Neither of the Black sisters noticed.

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Draco was alone in the Room of Requirement. Instead of the mess he had been surrounded by in his Sixth year, he was in a room of mirrors. He had his shirt off, and his eyes were fixed on the expanse of skin on his back.

BLOOD TRAITOR

The phrase once disgusted him, as did many people. Draco reflected on how quickly his life had changed since the Battle of Hogwarts. Some of his friends were dead, others injured, and everyone was traumatised.

All in all, he was pleased with how his life had turned out. His family had survived, Lucius was tolerable without his previous memories, and his Veela heritage had chosen well.

Draco decided that if anyone could keep Narcissa from planning an over-the-top, outrageous wedding, it was Hermione.

For the first time in years, he was looking forward to the future.

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Severus held up the glass of Firewhiskey while he was thinking deeply.

“Don’t you think it was anti-climactic?” Regulus asked, “She drops in, gets he butt kicked and ends up Kissed within a week. I keep wondering who will pop up next.”

“Riddle planned his war for decades; she had a month, at most,” Severus pointed out, “She was never one for long-term planning, so I am surprised she didn’t attack within hours of her Resurrection.”

“Thadius surprised me,” Regulus admitted, “He was always so quiet.”

“He was in league with Riddle for decades; keeping quiet kept him alive.”


	92. Epilogue

Draco clapped, along with the rest of the crowd as Charlie and Pansy were announced as Lord and Lady Parkinson for the first time.

Pansy beamed at her husband, who was clearly as besotted as she was.

Hermione anticipated the reception with equal parts dread and hope. She knew that Pansy’s mother was being escorted to the venue by an Auror, as her presence was required to complete the conditions of the cursed bracelet. She was being held in the Ministry while she awaited trial for deliberately cursing Pansy and cooperating with Death Eaters to resurrect Bellatrix.

Molly Weasley was looking forward to the reception. She had become fond of the sharp-tongued girl who had captured Charlie’s heart, and would not tolerate any disrespect on such an occasion. As Lord and Lady Parkinson, neither Charlie nor Pansy could physically or magically harm Posy without repercussions. Fortunately, others were not so restricted.

Pansy herself had been blunt when discussing her mother with Arthur and Molly. She had declared, “My mother is an uncaring bitch. She will go out of her way to ruin the wedding, just to bring attention to herself. Feel free to hex her if she steps out of line; as long as you don’t end up in Azkaban because of it.”

Posy Parkinson did not disappoint. Pansy had taken two steps into the reception hall when a shrill voice rang out;

“Is that the best you could do?”

Draco rolled his eyes; she was too predictable.

“Go away, Mother,” Pansy said coldly, “I can feel the bracelet loosening already. As Lady Parkinson, I banish you from the family and remove you from all our vaults.”

Posy Parkinson began to rant, and the Auror had to hold her back to stop a physical assault.

Hermione watched Molly move forward with intent, though her daughter was faster.

The sharp crack of an open palm slapping against a fleshy cheek echoed through the room.

“I have to wash my hand now!” Ginny complained, “Your brand of stupid could be contagious.”

Draco couldn’t even tell who cast the Silencing spell; he was simply happy that someone did. Molly stepped forward, and the sight of the witch who had killed Bellatrix made Posy close her mouth.

“With a psychotic bitch of a mother like you, I am impressed that Pansy turned out as well as she did. Clearly, her father shielded her from becoming a pathetic bully like you. I’m proud to call her my daughter-in-law!”

Pansy blinked rapidly, a sign that she was close to tears. The bracelet slipped off her wrist and landed on the floor with a heavy clunk.

“She’s a great sister!” Ginny added proudly.

“The curse has been lifted,” the Auror observed, “The prisoner can return to her cell.”

“Goodbye to bad rubbish,” Ron agreed with his usual tact.

“As eloquent as ever,” Draco mused, “How is Daphne going to take you out in public, Weasley?”

“She’ll have to take lessons from Hermione,” Ron retorted with a grin, “It will be easy once she finishes extracting all the Prat traits.”

“Then you will have to master toilet training,” Draco continued, “You’ll need to propose before Daphne finds out how badly you snore.”

“I do not!”

“You do,” Harry interrupted, “Like a chainsaw.”

“What’s a chainsaw?”

Hermione pushed Draco toward her two friends with instructions to get her a drink of something non-alcoholic. She smiled at the three of them fondly as their bickering continued.

The connection to her mate had strengthened enough to feel his emotions at the periphery of her own. She could feel his contentment like a warm hug.  
Her life had changed since Draco arrived at the Burrow injured and unconscious, and Hermione did not regret it for a minute.


End file.
